


Shape My Edges and Broker My Assent

by lilinas



Category: Glee
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Master/Slave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-06 16:03:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 111,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1863867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilinas/pseuds/lilinas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kidnapped from his home and sold as a slave to the powerful Duke of Eastreach, Kurt Hummel's life is now a desperate game of survival. In order to keep his mind intact, he outwardly plays the part of the obedient slave. It requires perfect self-control, but as long as his master doesn't see through Kurt's mask, he can never touch Kurt's essential self.</p><p>But then the duke's steward, Sebastian Smythe, barrels into Kurt's life, determined to not just look at Kurt, but to <i>see</i> him. Sebastian is frightening and alluring and threatens to utterly destroy the fragile safety zone between who Kurt is and what he pretends to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Acknowledgments**
> 
> This story would not be happening without two people.
> 
> [Sparrow30](http://sparrow30.tumblr.com), obviously, my true friend, long-suffering beta, and inexhaustible cheerleader. I can't even quantify the many ways she has helped and supported me, and will continue to, as I venture into new narrative territory. She's my rock and I am so, so grateful to her. Now that I have her I honestly don't know how I'd write without her! Thank you, Sparrow, for sticking with me through thick and self-doubting thin and always giving me that extra push to go further. You completely rock!
> 
> John Steinbeck once said that sometimes, when you find it hard to write, it helps to forget the faceless "audience" and just write to one specific person. [Delighter](http://delighterful.tumblr.com) is someone who has mastered the art of writing deep, dark kink with strength of character and true emotional clarity. This story isn't extra kinky or anything, but it does go to new, darker emotional places for me and I knew starting out that keeping the strong emotional thread would be difficult but important. So I write with Delighter as my compass, my "one specific person," and my inspiration as I strive to imbue difficult stuff with strong, true emotional connection. WWDD (what would Delighter do?) is my oft-repeated mantra. So thank you, Delighter, for existing, for writing what you do, and for inspiring me.  
>    
> Also, this story has a playlist, which you can find [here](http://8tracks.com/lilinas/shape-my-edges-and-broker-my-assent), in case you're interested in the music that's helping pull me through.
> 
> **A WORD ABOUT WARNINGS**
> 
> I struggled a lot with how to warn for this fic. If I tag for absolutely everything that happens or is referenced in the story, not only would I be spoiling at least some of what happens, it would make the story sound much, much more intense and angsty than it really is. But at the same time I always want to make sure that people who have triggers get full warnings. So I came up with a plan.
> 
> You should be able to tell from the title of this story that consent - what it is, who can give it, and in what situations - is a major theme. There will be non-con, dub-con, and various stages of questionable in Kurt's interactions with both OCs and Sebastian. And I do like my shades of gray, so I won't be making judgments about some of those questionable areas. That's the whole point. If you have issues with dubious consent, this is probably not the fic for you.
> 
> Also, this is a slave fic. Kurt, at the outset, is the slave of an OC and he's not happy about it. Bad things happen to him. He has strong emotional reactions to those things. But if you know my writing, you know that I don't like to belabor angst or linger on unpleasant things beyond what narrative demands. This is not a story about Kurt being hurt. But it is a story about Kurt struggling to survive in a bad situation.
> 
> So if you know me and trust me and don't have specific triggers that you're worried about, I'd say go ahead and start reading.
> 
> If you do have specific concerns or triggers, I've put a page listing of all the things this story could be tagged with [here](http://lilinas.tumblr.com/assentwarnings). And you can always feel free to message me on [tumblr](http://lilinas.tumblr.com/ask), [LiveJournal](http://lilinas.livejournal.com), or [FanFiction](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4178615/lilinas) about any concerns you may have. But please be aware that I probably won't be able to answer anon or public asks, unless there's a way to do it without spoiling the story for other readers.
> 
> I've probably completely over-thought this, but better safe than sorry, right?
> 
> On to the story!

“Oh Gavin, he’s beautiful!”    

By any reasonable standard, Lady Miranda of Montrose should have been completely miserable.

Her current location alone was enough of an excuse for discontent. Any trip to the eastern half of the Unified Realm of Concordia (and eternal blessings on King Harold III for saddling his kingdom with that particular acronym) was guaranteed to put her in the foulest of moods. There were those among the back-stabbing social climbers at court who might have hinted that her distaste was hypocritical, given the fact that she herself was a product of the eastern realm. But no one would have dared say it to her face. Thanks to the custom of east marrying west, and vice versa, Miranda had happily left her homeland behind on her wedding day, determined to never return. Unfortunately, that same custom had eventually dictated that her own daughter marry east, and not even the honor of having a count for a son-in-law could compensate for the fact that the occasional visit was unavoidable. Lord Montrose had long ago learned to treat his wife very gently from the moment they landed on the eastern bank of the Whitemarsh River until they were at last safely returned to their manor in the heart of Concordia City.

Then there was the company. On any trip east, propriety dictated a stop to pay respects to the Duke and Duchess of Eastreach. They were the ranking nobles in the east and normally Miranda would have been thrilled to be welcomed by people of such station, who would be anxious for their news of the court and certain to invite them to spend the night in the ducal castle. But she’d learned on previous visits, and during the duke and duchess’ infrequent trips to court, that Ardith was insipid in the extreme and Gavin was only interested in finding his way under the skirts of as many women as possible. Miranda had had to fend of his advances more than once – tactfully, of course; he was the queen’s brother after all.  But his behavior only served to confirm her opinion that even among the nobility, there was nothing of value to be found in the eastern realm.

Even her place at table for the midday meal seemed designed to irk her. Instead of a formal arrangement - and really, didn’t Lord and Lady Montrose merit a formal arrangement? - with all the guests of distinction facing the commoners at the lower tables, their chairs had been set casually around the high table. So Miranda’s place of honor at the duke’s right hand also put her with her back to the assembled masses and what was the point of being at the high table if the commoners weren’t able to see and admire her? She should have been seething. She _had_ been seething, enough that her husband had spent most of the meal casting concerned glances in her direction from his place across the table at the duchess’s right hand.

But that was before the duke had decided during the dessert course to show off his most precious possession.

Conversation at the lower tables had dropped to whispered murmurs the moment the boy had appeared from a hidden alcove to stand behind the duke’s chair. At the foot of the table the duchess blushed red at his entrance and murmured a token protest in the general direction of her dessert plate. Lord Montrose, who had never to Miranda’s knowledge pointed his dick in a male direction, stared openly. But the duke kept his gaze on Miranda, anticipating her reaction.

Miranda only had eyes for the boy.

“Beautiful” was the word she’d used, but it wasn’t right. It wasn’t enough to describe him. Standing naked, not a single adornment from top to toe, hands clasped behind him and head lowered in submissive deference, he was more than beautiful. He was a vision, something a sculptor might conceive in a brilliant fever dream and then coax from a block of marble using every ounce of his talent and hard-earned skill. A masterwork. His pale skin seemed to glow in the light slanting through the hall’s high windows, so fair that the chestnut of his hair and the rosy pink of his nipples stood out against it in shocking contrast.

“Boy” was also the wrong word. It was only the lack of hair below his neck that gave that impression. He was a youthful but fully formed man. His shoulders were broad and strong. His skin was shadowed in all the right places with the outlines of lithe muscle and his cock, hanging flaccid against his heavy sac, was not by any estimation immature.

But more than his physical beauty, it was his composure that took Miranda’s breath away. He seemed perfectly calm, betraying no sign that he was discomfited standing exposed in front of the duke’s entire household. No muscle trembled; no breath hitched. No matter where Miranda looked she saw no flaw in his composure. His self-control was remarkable. There had to be cracks, she thought. Everyone had weaknesses. Miranda had a passion for finding and exploiting the weaknesses of others. She wanted to touch this boy so badly that her fingers ached with it.

The duke snapped his fingers with a sudden sharp sound that echoed in the silent hall and on that cue the boy stepped forward and folded himself to the floor with perfect grace to kneel beside his master’s chair. Conversation at the lower tables picked up again; apparently a naked slave in the hall was only interesting if something was going to be done with him.

Miranda however, with her close-up view, was only more fascinated by the way the boy held himself, back straight and knees spread so that his balls swung down between his legs. Long-fingered hands rested open and relaxed on his thighs.

“I’ve never seen anything like him,” she breathed. She hoped Gavin could appreciate how rarely she had occasion to make that assertion.

Gavin’s thick lips pulled into a leering smile. “I should think not. He’s one of a kind.”

“Gavin, must we? At the table?” The duchess’ protest was murmured so quietly that Miranda could barely hear it. The duke ignored it altogether.

“I thought slavery was outlawed a hundred years ago,” Lord Montrose said. “When Harold III unified the realms.”

“Acts of aggression rarely succeed in the way the aggressors intend them to,” the Duke intoned, and Miranda had to pinch her lips together to stop herself smiling. A hundred years of union and intermarriage and still the east wasn’t over it. “I think you’ll find the west is very rarely aware of what actually happens in the east,” Gavin continued. “In point of fact, my own grandfather always kept a slut. I can remember the last one. And if that’s a hundred years then the old Maker’s been much kinder to me than I’m sure I deserve.” He laughed at that and tossed a wink at Miranda, and Lord Montrose, with his usual skill at flattery, laughed merrily along with him.

Miranda was still transfixed by the boy. “But wherever did he come from?” she asked. The duke’s hubris aside, it was a fact that there was no pool of slaves left in the east or anywhere else, to provide likely candidates. “I don’t imagine he volunteered.”

The duke shrugged. “Some village in the mountains couldn’t pay their taxes last summer. When my collector came calling, they offered him instead. Obviously barbarians.” He snorted with noble derision, apparently seeing no irony in expressing that particular sentiment with the boy himself kneeling naked beside him. “But I’d been thinking about reviving the slut tradition so I accepted. You might say he just tumbled right into my lap.” Another suggestive laugh, echoed by a sycophantic Lord Montrose. “I even managed to find someone to train him. Cost me quite a bit of coin to have him properly put right. But worth every penny.”

“Didn’t he have any family? Anyone to defend him?”

Gavin shrugged again. “I'm told he was an orphan. In any case, no one’s ever come looking for him.”

The boy knelt there, perfectly still, and carefully as Miranda looked, she could see absolutely no reaction to the story of his own loss of freedom being recounted over his head. He gave no indication that he’d heard a single word of it. The strength of his will made him even more alluring. Oh, how she longed to have him alone. The more perfect the façade, the more satisfying it was to shatter.

“So he was free, before?” Miranda asked, more to goad the boy than because she needed clarification. “He was kidnapped against his will?”

“My dear Miranda, what slave ever chooses to serve? Besides, once a slut is trained, he has no will of his own. That’s the entire point. His only thought is to please his master.” Gavin dropped a heavy hand to the boy’s head, tangling his fingers in the short hair there and pulling back roughly, forcing the boy to look up at him. “Isn’t that right, slut?”

“Yes, master.”

The boy’s voice surprised Miranda, soft and high as girl’s. His face still betrayed no emotion. As soon as the duke released him he lowered his eyes to the floor again in deliberate submission. Miranda was torn between the desire to laugh out loud and to rage. Gavin obviously believed what he was saying. And if he really was that oblivious, he didn’t begin to deserve so exquisite a slave.

“Why a boy, though?” Lord Montrose asked from across the table. “Wouldn’t you prefer a girl?”

“Sluts are always boys,” the duke intoned, as if he were telling a child something he should have been able to figure out on his own.

Miranda gave her husband a warning glance, but Ignatius went on, oblivious. “Always? I don’t understand. I thought everyone in the east was horrified by the idea of –”

“You’ll have to excuse Ignatius,” Miranda interrupted, her warning escalating into a fierce _shut the fuck up_ glare. The last thing they needed was for Ignatius to insult the entirety of Gavin’s ancestors by implying they were all sexual deviants. “He’s born and bred western so of course he doesn’t understand the fundamental difference between a slut and a lover.”

She forced out a laugh, as if mocking her husband’s idiocy, and Gavin echoed it. “I don’t fuck my slut, Lord Montrose.”

“Gavin!” the duchess managed, but again the duke ignored her.

“But obviously you –“

“When you close your eyes, one mouth is as good as another.”

“I just meant, why _not_ girls? It seems to make so much more sense.”

“I’ve always heard,” Miranda said, throwing another death glare at her husband before leaning closer to Gavin in an effort to appease or at least distract him with her cleavage, “that men are often better at pleasing other men. Because they intimately know how it all feels. We women lack the . . . equipment . . . for that kind of personal knowledge.”

Both men laughed at that, and the duchess blushed again and applied herself to her pastry with a trembling fork.

“Actually, Lord Montrose,” Gavin said, “it’s a simple matter of boys being easier to control than girls.”

“I find that hard to believe!” Ignatius scoffed.

“Really?” Miranda raised an eyebrow at her husband. “Where in the world would you get the impression that women are easy to control?”

“We’re speaking of peasants, not noblewomen. The man has yet to be born who could master you, my dear.” He saluted her with his goblet and took a sip, then turned his attention back to the duke.

“Noblewomen aside, I assure you it’s quite true,” Gavin said. “Stand up, slut.”

Silently, gracefully, the boy unfolded himself and rose to his feet, which had the happy result of putting his cock back at Miranda’s eye level. Especially happy as Gavin, without taking his eyes off Lord Montrose, grabbed his slut’s penis in a tight grip and began to stroke, pulling the foreskin roughly along the flaccid shaft. As if on cue, the entire hall went quiet again behind Miranda, everyone’s attention captured by the activity on dais.

“Gavin, please –" the duchess tried again.

“You’re free to leave the table if you’d like, Ardith,” the duke told his wife coldly, not bothering to even glance in her direction.

The duchess remained in her place.

“It’s perfectly sanitary,” Gavin told Ignatius as he stroked the boy. “Keeping himself scrupulously clean is his second most important duty.”

Cleanliness was the last thing on Miranda’s mind at the moment. She had the best view in the house and sat transfixed as, from the first stroke, the boy’s cock began to stretch and fill. It had reached full hardness by the fifth, and without the downward pressure of Gavin’s hand it would have stood, she could tell, flush against his belly. It was beautiful for a cock, and longer than she would have expected from its flaccid size, which pleased her. The very best cocks were the kind that stayed out of the way when they weren't wanted but grew large enough to make eloquent display of their need when they were. The boy's shaft thickened in his master's hand, stretching into a graceful curve so eagerly that Miranda could see the duke must keep him very needy indeed. Yet even as the physical manifestation of his arousal grew, the boy’s control was absolute. His eyes stayed down, his breathing even; if not for the evidence directly in front of Miranda’s eyes it would have been impossible to tell that he was in any way excited. How she longed to have a chance to break through that perfect shell. Just the idea of it made her wet.

“You see, Lord Montrose?” Gavin said, still stroking. “Men are ruled by their cocks. Yes, even you and I, although of course as men of breeding and education we can rise above our natural urges.”

Miranda almost choked at that, and had to turn away and hide her face in her goblet. Only in the east could a man seriously assert his ability to control his sexual urges while publicly masturbating the naked slave he kept to suck his cock.

“But these lowborn boys?” Gavin continued. “Keep them desperate enough and all they can think about is being allowed to erupt. Eventually they’ll do anything at all to earn a chance to come. Control their pleasure and you control everything else. With one hand.” He stopped his rough stroking and squeezed down hard on the boy’s cock. Miranda watched, fascinated, as a drop of moisture appeared in the slit, beaded there for a moment, then fell, dropping in a shining spider-silk thread toward the floor.

“I’m close, master,” the boy murmured, and the duke, without even a glance at him, released his shaft and went right back to his pastry.

Miranda wanted to laugh with delight. Gavin had no idea at all. It was obvious the boy wasn’t anywhere near a loss of control. His cock was still hard, of course, set free it bounced right up against the boy's abdomen just as Miranda had predicted. But it didn’t jump or throb; it had only produced the one tiny bit of slick, and his full balls still hung soft between his legs. The duke was too busy rising above his natural urges to realize his sex slave was pulling the wool over his eyes.

“I’m still in favor of Miranda’s explanation,” Ignatius said. “A cock knows what a cock likes.”

“I’m sure it’s more practical than either of those things.” The voice from the foot of the table was so unexpected that everyone, even the duke, simply stared at the duchess, waiting for her to say more. She raised her pinched eyes from her dessert and looked directly at Ignatius. “A girl could only be kept naked three weeks out of every month. There’s more value in a boy.”

Miranda wasn’t sure what was funnier, the unexpected logic of the duchess’s argument or the looks on the faces of the men when she made it. A bark of laughter escaped her before she could press her hand to her mouth to stifle it.

Ardith spoke again, still focusing on Ignatius, casually, as if she hadn’t just shocked the entire table. “How did you leave the king and queen, Lord Montrose? Are they recovering from the death of the Crown Prince?”

Ignatius was still taken aback by the lady’s outburst. “Well they . . .” he stammered, “I mean, does anyone ever recover from so great a loss?”

“Such a tragedy. We were deeply sorry not to have been able to attend the funeral. But we’ll be coming to Concordia City next month, of course, for Prince Harold’s affirmation in his brother’s place. Do you think . . .”

Miranda didn’t bother to listen to the rest of the question. Let Ignatius humor the duchess. She turned her attention back to Gavin, his slut, and the slut’s still-hard cock. Gavin was staring at Miranda as fiercely as Miranda had been staring at the slut. He had scented her desire as surely as she had the slut's deception, and he clearly planned to make the most of it.

“Would you like to touch him?” he offered.

Would she? “Are you sure?” Miranda asked. It wouldn’t do to appear too eager, after all. “Such a valuable thing . . .”

“I insist,” he said, the picture of noble condescension.

She wasn’t going to wait to be told twice. Excitement fluttered in her chest and warmed between her legs. The boy betrayed no reaction to the idea of being handled by a stranger; Miranda would have been disappointed if he had. She rose and stepped so close to the boy that his cock bobbed inches from the ice blue silk panels of her skirt. She could feel Gavin’s eyes on her, almost burning in their intensity, but she didn’t care. Everything faded into the background, the rise and fall of chatter from the lower tables, the conversation the duchess insisted on keeping up with Ignatius.

She touched a fingertip under the boy’s chin and pushed up, so that he was forced to raise his head and meet her gaze. His eyes were a lovely, stormy grayish blue, pretty, but empty. Blank. She could imagine them, though, pleading, glistening with tears. They would be so beautiful. He would be so beautiful, if he ever broke.

She released his chin and the stormy gaze lowered immediately back to the floor. Miranda trailed her hand down, caressing the soft skin of his throat, over the planes of his chest to pinch at one pink nipple. She watched his face as she worked at it, but aside from the nipple itself peaking in pebbled arousal, the boy might as well have been the statue she'd compared him to. But she knew the way in. There was one thing Gavin was right about even in his imbecilic blindness. She slipped her hand lower, tracing over a sharp hip bone before sliding between his legs to cup his balls. They were heavy, even heavier than she’d expected from their swollen appearance, so full in her hand that she knew they had to ache. Pleasure pulsed between her legs again as she realized just how denied the slut must be.

“Gods, Gavin, do you ever let him come?”

“Occasionally. The teasing is the key. It’s what keeps them obedient. But in order for it to work the slut at least has to think he has a chance. So I can’t avoid the occasional release. Followed by plenty of pain, of course. Just to keep him in line.”

“Of course,” Miranda breathed. She tightened her hand, squeezing his balls hard enough to hurt, but the boy made no sound and his shadowed eyes showed no sign of strain. Then, deciding she’d teased them both enough, she finally let herself touch his cock. She slipped her fingers along the length of his shaft, stroking, not harsh as Gavin had been, but gently, tenderly, easing the foreskin over the exposed head and back again. The boy’s flesh, at least, wasn’t immune to her effect. She felt it thicken against her hand and again moisture oozed from the slit. Gorgeous. “He must be so much fun to play with when he’s like this,” she said.

“I wouldn’t know,” Gavin said with a sniff, as if Miranda’s words offended him. “I rarely touch him, except to show him off. Why would I?”

“Then how –"

“My valet does most of the handling. He has quite the flair for cock teasing. I can’t decide if he’s a deviant or just a dedicated sadist. Either way, I should probably replace him. The priests would demand it if they knew, but then who’d torture my slut for me? Plus he’s terribly talented with a needle and thread.”

A tiny flutter, barely enough to be called a twitch, rippled at the corner of the boy’s mouth. If Miranda hadn’t been watching so closely she would have missed it entirely, but her breath caught and her heart jumped in her chest. Finally a crack in his perfect control.

“What in the world does he do with the needle and thread?” she pressed, eyes glued to the boy’s face.

“Keeps my wardrobe, of course. What else would he do with them?”

Disappointing, but Miranda was undeterred. She began to stroke faster, pumping her hand up and down the hard shaft. She didn’t have to know exactly what had caused the boy’s slip to take advantage of it. She swept her thumb over the head of the boy’s penis, sliding through the slick, over and over until finally the boy murmured to Gavin, just as he’d done before, “I’m close, master.”

Oh, he was perfection. Miranda wanted to shout her triumph. She had dragged enough cocks to eruption to know that the boy was still far from any danger of coming. She’d gotten further than Gavin – she could feel little pulses of desire running the length of the shaft – but Gavin’s assertion that the boy had no will of his own was becoming more and more ludicrous. She tightened her fist around him and squeezed as hard as she could, until the slick began to trickle over the head in tiny rivulets. Then with her other hand she grabbed his chin, harder than before, and forced him to raise his eyes again.

This time when he met her gaze the blank emptiness was gone. She could see him thinking, wary now, trying to assess what danger she might present. She was breaking through and it was everything she’d imagined it would be. The duke, the hall, the entire world faded into nothing as his lovely eyes bored into hers. Miranda’s sexual tastes had always tended toward domination, and though she’d never lacked for bed partners willing to play that way this was so very different. This was real. There were no scripts or safewords here. This perfect boy was completely hers, to do with as she wished. She held his fate quite literally in her hands.

 _I know your secret_ , she told him with her eyes, and a thrill sparked through her body when his cloudy blue gaze darkened with the first flicker of fear.

She loosened her grip, both on his cock and his face, and resumed stroking in long, slow slides, while the boy returned his gaze to the floor, trying to hide from her again.  But it was no good. She’d seen through him. She’d scented his fear and now the chase was on. There could only be one winner and Miranda was determined that it would be herself. She slid her thumb around the crown, again and again through the accumulating moisture there, until his breath caught in his throat and he looked up at her of his own volition. “Please,” he begged, taking the tiniest pause before adding, for Gavin’s sake, “master,” and dropping his eyes again to the floor.

“I don’t want to spoil your fun, Miranda, but don’t make my slut come. I have meetings scheduled all afternoon. I really don’t have time to punish him.”

The boy began to tremble. His chest heaved and he raised his eyes again, silently pleading.

Miranda resumed her stroking, ignoring Gavin entirely. The duke was an idiot who didn’t deserve to occupy the same space as the exquisite creature in front of her. From just two feet away he was oblivious to the fact that she had more control of the slut after five minutes than he’d managed to exert in half a year. The boy continued to look her in the eyes, still begging, and she smiled at him, warmly, gently, a silent _good boy_  as a reward for finally recognizing her mastery. Miranda knew from experience that although there were many ways to force someone to do what you wanted them to do, the only way to truly control them was to know what they feared. And this boy feared punishment. Her contempt for the duke was growing by the moment. He had the means to break the boy, but his _meetings_ were more important.

“Look at how he shakes,” she said, turning her seductive smile on Gavin. “Your punishments must be fierce indeed.”

The duchess and Ignatius had stopped talking, watching Miranda with the slut instead, and only the occasional whisper from the lower hall disturbed the silence.

“You have no idea what a challenge it is to come up with things that don’t mark up that precious skin everyone keeps telling me is so valuable,” Gavin said. “In his training they just beat him. But I have to be more creative.”

“Tell me,” she coaxed, slowing her strokes to keep the boy right where she wanted him.

“There was one that involved my best hunting dog, a cauldron of meat broth, and the slut’s cock. I think that one was especially inspired. You should have heard him scream.”

Miranda intended to do just that. She turned on the duke with the exaggerated pout that almost always succeeded in getting her what she wanted. From men, at least. “Oh, you can’t tease me that way!” she protested, letting her voice slip into a more girlish pitch. “There must be time for just a tiny demonstration. I don’t even have to make him come. After all, he’s your slut. You don’t need an excuse to punish him.” She let go of the boy’s cock then, and settled back down in her seat so she could lean closer to the duke, creating a sense of intimate space between them. "It's his job to entertain you."

As soon as her hand left his body, the slut fell to his knees again, and further, prostrating himself with his face pressed to the floor. As if by making himself as small and submissive as possible he might avoid what was coming. His body shuddered against the parquet.

“Think of the stories I’ll have to tell when I get home,” Miranda wheedled. “No one in the capital has ever seen anything like this.”

Gavin hesitated, glancing around the hall. Miranda may have had her back to the lower tables, but she could tell from the anticipatory silence that she wasn’t the only person hanging on Gavin’s decision. The duke then looked at Ignatius, who was keeping his expression carefully neutral, and finally at the duchess.

When Ardith gave a tiny shake of her head, Miranda knew she’d won. Gavin immediately turned on her with a grin. “Why not? I’m sure I can take time for a small demonstration. I’d hate for your reportage to be incomplete.”

Miranda wanted to bounce and clap her hands like a child with a new toy, but she restrained herself to simply grinning back at Gavin, who was already signaling a nearby footman.

“Send someone to fetch Fang from the kennels. And a pot of stock from the kitchens. Not too hot,” he glanced at Miranda and smiled again. “We don’t want to do any permanent damage.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” The man bowed, then grabbed a serving boy and whispered in his ear.

At their feet the slut stopped shaking and went completely still. Miranda hoped he hadn’t lost consciousness. She very much wanted to hear him scream.

Then a clatter of running footsteps drew her and everyone else’s attention to the back of the room, where another young page came hurrying up the aisle between tables with a piece of paper fluttering in his hand. He stopped in front of the dais, clearly unsure how to proceed, and finally bowed, holding the paper up in the duke’s general direction.

“Well bring it to me boy,” the duke commanded.

The boy bowed again then, wide eyes glued to the prostrate form of the slut, climbed the stairs. He hesitated, obviously torn between stepping over the slave or around him, then finally he leaned forward awkwardly and held out the paper. The knotted belt of his livery brushed the naked back at his feet. As soon as the duke's impatient fingers snatched the message, the boy retreated to a safe distance back down the stairs.

Miranda’s spirits sank as she watched Gavin read the paper. His expression darkened to the point that she thought it must contain some kind of terrible news, but when he finally spoke, he was calm and nonchalant.

“Bad luck, Miranda,” Gavin said. “My steward has just arrived from my estate at Greenway with a matter that requires my immediate attention. Our pleasure will have to wait for another time, I’m afraid.”

Under the table, Miranda clenched her fists in frustration, but she kept her voice soft and controlled. “But there is no other time. We have to leave in the morning at first light if we’re to make the river before nightfall. Surely business can wait another quarter hour?”

But the duke was already pushing himself back from the table. One of the footmen rushed forward to hold his chair for him. “I’m afraid it can’t. According to my man, it’s a matter of some urgency.”

“And does a servant dictate to the most powerful duke in the eastern realm?” It was a desperate attempt, born of frustration, and, Miranda realized immediately, a mistake. Gavin’s face went as dark as it had when he’d first read the note.

“I certainly wouldn’t expect you to understand the demands of running a duchy, my lady,” Gavin said coldly.  “Business always takes precedence over pleasure.” He looked at the page, still waiting by the foot of the steps. “Tell Sebastian I’ll meet him in my private study.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” The boy bowed again and hurried back down the aisle, past the tables where the Eastreach retainers and hangers-on were taking hurried last bites. Once the duke retired, the dinner was considered officially over and anyone who lingered was likely to have his plate snatched out from under him by the cleaning staff, rushing to clear and reset for the next meal.

The duchess and Ignatius both rose from their seats and Miranda had no choice but to follow suit. Gavin gave her a tight, polite smile. “I’m afraid I won’t see you before you leave,” he said. “I never breakfast publicly.”

“We’re very grateful for your hospitality, Your Grace,” Ignatius said with a nervous glance at his wife.

“Feel free to stop with us any time you come east,” Gavin replied. He looked at Miranda and relented enough to wink at her. “Perhaps next time we’ll be able to pick up where we left off, eh?”

Miranda found herself incapable of speech. Instead, she dropped a deep curtsy. Perhaps the duke would think the glimpse down her bodice was her reply. Before she was upright again, Gavin had slipped out through the alcove hidden behind his chair.

“Thank you so much for bringing me news of the court, Lord Montrose,” Ardith simpered, immediately bolder in her husband's absence. “I do hope we’ll see you when we’re there next month.” She offered her hand and Ignatius sketched a bow over it. Miranda curtsied again. Then the duchess followed her husband, leaving Miranda and Ignatius alone on the dais with the still-prostrate slut. Used and forgotten, the both of them, Miranda thought.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to stamp her feet and throw a wailing, screeching five-year-old tantrum. But as she was a grown woman, she had to restrict herself to a muttered, “It’s not fair!” when her husband appeared at her side and offered her his arm. “He doesn’t deserve him. He’ll never break him properly. He could be so perfect.”

“You did what you could,” Ignatius soothed. “It’s not the end of the world. At least you’ll have a good story to tell your gossip-monger friends about. None of them have ever had a boy at their mercy like that.”

“None of them would know what to do with a boy at their mercy,” Miranda sniffed.

“Well then you can curl their hair a little. Titillate them with the possibilities. Drive them mad with jealousy.”

“You have a point,” Miranda admitted. But she stood still, staring at the boy, making no move to leave the dais. Ignatius had to give her a good tug to get her underway.

She could feel the boy pulling at her even as Ignatius led her down the steps and toward the doors at the far end of the hall. Before they joined the throng passing through them, she paused to look back just once at the beautiful slut, still lying motionless where he’d fallen face-down on the dais.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to mention that if you're the type who likes to know what an author is listening to while writing, my playlist for this story can be found [here](http://8tracks.com/lilinas/shape-my-edges-and-broker-my-assent).

Focus. Breathe. Think.

_Preparation, needle. Grasp the needle. (“No, not at the end boy, it’s a needle not a trowel – just far enough from the point to measure the stitch.”) Thimble. Stroke the needle. Catch the base. Thimble moves the needle, pivots it to bite the cloth, and back up. Left hand breaks the cloth over the point. (“Don’t turn your wrist boy, if you do that every time it’ll wear out before you ever make journeyman.”) Thimble does the work. Bite, break, push, grasp, pull. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat . . ._

Kurt knelt on the dais, face still pressed into the floor in supplication to no one any more, listening to the lesser lords and ladies, soldiers and craftsmen make their way out of the great hall. In his head he recited his tailor’s litany, in an attempt to reassemble the tattered shreds of his self-discipline. Anyone else in his position might have prayed, but needle and thread were the only religion Kurt recognized, and Master Tailor Neric the only priest. He wanted to be up and off the dais, but he didn’t try to move at all as he chanted. He stayed perfectly still against the cold, hard wood. He didn’t have a choice.

 _Forestitch, small, straight, even. Basting and light seaming. Hours with the forestitch, days, weeks. Thimble finger tied into position with a soft black ribbon. Bite, break, push, grasp, pull. Pick out his uneven attempts and start all over again._ _By the time he’d staggered home half asleep at the end of each day, his fingers had been cramped and frozen in the needle hold. He’d cried with the pain as his father massaged them back to usefulness, then cried even harder when Burt suggested that maybe he shouldn’t go back. Maybe twelve was too young to apprentice. He could wait another year. But no matter how bad the nights, the rising sun always found him standing in front of the tailor's door, following the needle’s call._

He didn’t move because he couldn’t. Before all this, before he’d been taken, Kurt had always thought the idea of being paralyzed by fear was blatant hyperbole. He’d used the phrase himself, oh so dramatically, to his father describing a near miss with a clutch of bullies (the village of Pluna was far too backward to ever appreciate someone with Kurt’s particular flair), or to Master Neric, as each of his skills examinations loomed. But that had been in another life. A life where, even in his worst nightmares he’d never imagined a fear so intense that it could stretch tendons and lock muscles. Fear that could turn every breath and heartbeat into a struggle for life against icy, bone-crushing pressure and the insidious voice that whispered inside him that maybe this was the time - maybe he had run out of strength or reasons to fight.

_Breathe. Think. Backstitch, the tailor’s plowhorse. (“You’ll probably take more backstitches in your life than breaths, boy. It’s the blood in your veins. You’ll be more intimately acquainted with it than with any lover.”) Catch the last stitch with absolute precision. Graceful, rhythmic, bite, break, push, grasp, pull. Tension the top layer to make up for the angle and finally he started to feel like he might have a chance, he filled whole squares of cloth with straight, even stitches and when Master Neric looked over his shoulder and harrumphed and nodded, Kurt felt like he’d swallowed the sun and it was trying to burst through his skin in beams of pure joy._

It had never happened to him during what the duke like to call his training. Then, punishments had always been beatings and Kurt had learned that pain, even the excruciating kind that made you absolutely certain you’d rather die than take one more hit, wasn’t the same as fear. Paralyzing fear wasn’t contingent on pain at all. He never knew when it would happen. Sometimes it took him completely by surprise. But today he’d seen it coming as soon as that woman had said _punishment._  Gavin never beat him. A slave covered in bruises didn’t draw the covetous gasps from onlookers that the duke loved. Gavin's punishments were on a completely different level; they'd taught Kurt that there were ways to suffer that were much worse than a whip. There were cages with needle-sharp spikes shaped to fit his vulnerable, sensitive cock, teased to hardness inside it over and over until he was sobbing with pain. There were afternoons spent shivering naked in the wintry courtyard, chained to a post until every guardsman within earshot had taken his pleasure in Kurt's mouth. And there was the dog, the enormous black-furred beast with its powerful jaws and gleaming teeth . . .

_No. Think. What was next? Wavestitch, Master Neric had to explain the name to Kurt, who in landlocked Pluna had never seen a body of water bigger than the miller's pond. The master’s nimble hands had undulated through the air until Kurt could see the waves rolling, toward the land, away, and back in again. He’d dreamt, as he made his careful double stitches, of standing on the ocean’s shore, with the beautiful white towers of Concordia City at his back, watching those waves flow like his stitches across the fabric. He loved the wavestitch. Sometimes he could actually feel himself bob where he sat cross-legged on his broad bench, floating in his imaginary sea. The air seemed cleaner, sharp with the salt tang Master Neric described, when Kurt practiced the wavestitch. It felt like freedom._

Kurt’s breathing was slowing, thank the gods, and the whirlwind in his head starting to calm. Wavestitch always helped. His awareness spread out like those imaginary waves, rippling beyond his own body and the wood he knelt on. He could hear the clatter of dishes. Servants would be moving among the tables, he knew, scraping food scraps into heavy baskets to be carted away for pigslop, and stacking plates to be carried back to the washroom. Kurt very much wanted to be out of the hall before any of them made their way up to the dais.

Most of the duke’s servants regarded Kurt as a kind of troublesome, pampered pet. He did no work that they could see and because his movements were limited by his nudity, he created plenty of extra work for them. His meals had to be brought to him, his bed linens collected, his chamber pot emptied. Kurt was polite to the point of deference when he encountered them, but even the few who might be disposed to pity him lowered their gazes in his presence and shied away whenever they passed him in a corridor. He reminded them, uncomfortably, he was sure, of how far it was possible to fall. For others, the temptation of having someone lower than themselves to abuse was irresistible. Usually he paid no attention. Their attacks were always verbal – they feared the duke too much to attempt anything more – and the gods knew Kurt had a lifetime’s experience ignoring taunts and jeers. But at the moment his grip on himself was still too tenuous. He wasn’t sure it could withstand the humiliation of being mocked by a bunch of kitchen wenches because he was groveling on the floor, too scared to move.

 _Have to move. Keep breathing. Prickstitch, gods how he’d hated the prickstitch. As soon as he'd managed a little bit of facility, some measure of ease, suddenly everything changed. It was a tiny change, slide the needle between the layers, pick up just the fewest possible threads, but it left his hands fumbling as if they’d never sewn a stitch before. He had wanted to scream and rant at his traitorous fingers. It also made him an easy target for Master Neric’s useless son Cale and his idiot friends, who never missed an opportunity to play tease-the-apprentice. “How’s that prick stitch coming Kurt?” “Is that prick still giving you trouble, Kurt?” “Oh, I think he’s got the prick well in hand, don’t you Kurt? I’m pretty sure the prick’s his favorite . . .” They’d run away the moment the master appeared, and Kurt would continue to work in silence, his face burning with humiliation. They didn’t know, they couldn’t know, they were just stupid boys making the most obvious stupid joke. But Kurt knew. He was old enough then to know that he was different. Different in a way that wasn’t decent._ _He despised the prickstitch. But then halfway through his battle with it Master Neric decided he no longer needed the black ribbon holding his thimble finger in place, and then there wasn’t room inside of Kurt to hate anything. Removing the ribbon meant he’d passed the first test. It was the tangible expression of Master Neric’s belief in his ability to make this journey. There was no doubt, then, that he was on a path that would take him to mastery himself, and away from Pluna and her small-minded inhabitants forever. As long as he lived, Kurt would never forget the fierce triumph he’d felt in that moment. His entire future, everything he’d ever dreamt of, was in his grasp, worked in perfect white prickstitches on rough black wool._

His body began to tremble against the wood of the dais. That was good. It was normal for his muscles to tremble with fatigue before they finally gave up and unlocked. Just in time, too, because the sounds of clearing were making their way closer to the dais and Kurt was still stuck on the floor. He was breathing more easily, and his heart had slowed down enough that he could actually tell one beat from another, but he wasn’t moving yet.

It was the woman who’d done it. The horrible woman with her pale blue skirts that reflected the light like blades and her careful, questioning eyes that had seen right through him, effortlessly.

Kurt’s survival depended on hiding in plain sight. At some point during his training, lying on the thin mattress in the cell they’d kept him in, every muscle throbbing after being beaten for some indiscretion or another, Kurt had realized that he was going to lose his mind. That was the point of everything they did to him. Gavin had told the woman that a slut was meant to have no will or thought beyond pleasing his master. And on that random day in the dungeon it had become clear to Kurt that the more he fought, the harder they’d punish him, until eventually his mind snapped. They would push him with torture and humiliation until there was nothing left of him but an empty vessel. And then if his slavery ever came to an end, there wouldn’t be a Kurt Hummel left to notice. So although part of him had wanted, still wanted, to fight, he'd known with absolute certainty that he would lose. The only way to make sure Kurt Hummel survived was to build a wall between his body and his mind. They could have his body. He would let them do to it whatever they wanted. He would go where they wanted him to go, say what they wanted him to say, suck what they wanted him to suck. He'd let them teach his flesh to respond in whatever way they required. And when he was deemed ready to be turned over to the duke, he would do exactly as he was told in perfect submission. On the outside. He would wear the mask of the slut, inhabited it, so that Kurt, dramatic, fierce, _free_ Kurt, had a hope of surviving.

And it worked. It was almost easy. His trainers were so invested in imprinting him with the persona of slut that they never even asked his name. They knew nothing at all about him, and without that knowledge they couldn’t pervert the essence of who he was. Underneath the performance that he gave every day, Kurt was untouchable. As long as nobody suspected him lurking there just below all the _yes masters_. And for half a year nobody ever did. Because Gavin was a bully, but he wasn't a sadist. He loved power, and as long as he believed he had complete power over Kurt, it never occurred to him that his slut wasn’t exactly what he appeared to be. He punished misbehavior, because misbehavior threatened his power. He enjoyed Kurt’s begging, sobbing and screaming because it meant that his power had been unquestionably restored. That was all he wanted, so thank the gods he never understood the way his punishments broke Kurt open, drove into all the secret places where he thought he was safe, and pushed him to the verge of losing himself all over again. He didn't realize that Kurt would do anything to avoid punishment because each time it was harder, afterward, to pull himself back together. Each time his grip on _Kurt_ felt more tenuous.

Gavin had never noticed, but that woman – she was different. She’d looked at him for mere moments and _seen_. Like a bloodhound she’d sniffed out his secret rebellion and zeroed in on the exact thing that terrified him most. And he’d been saved, this time, by the arrival of the servant's note, but she was still here. She was spending the night in the castle and at any point, just a word in Gavin’s ear and Kurt’s entire carefully-crafted façade would be destroyed. Because if Gavin ever suspected Kurt was holding back . . .

But that kind of thinking, Kurt scolded himself, would never get his frozen limbs to unlock. He needed to stop worrying about things he couldn’t control and keep concentrating on what he could. Getting off this dais before some disgruntled kitchen maid decided to step on him.

 _Knifestitch,_  he chanted silently, _tiny and straight, for tacking lining or casting edges. Bite and break, sideways step, bite and break._

_Padstitch, little side stitches placed just so to form beautiful chevron patterns for thickening and strengthening. He loved to experiment with placement, finding new designs._

_Briarstitch, the hardest of all to keep even, moving side to side, needle passing over the thread, painstaking but perfect for easing pleats and tucks, for decorating a detail, pocket or collar . . ._

Briarstitch worked in a border of blood red on a shiny brown leather collar that reflected fragments of torchlight, briarstitch framing the dog’s name . . .

No, gods, _fuck_ he wasn’t supposed to do briarstitch anymore, he forgot, and the flash of the collar behind his eyes was all it took. It transported Kurt back, kneeling in the center of the hall, frozen, like now, but upright, exposed to all those eyes, exposed to the dog’s hot tongue, paralyzed with fear as fragrant meat juices ran over his body and the tongue like a rasp on his flesh, mindlessly, mindlessly licking, vicious white teeth flashing and the kennel-master's voice  _don’t move slut, if you move he’ll bite and then you’ll be pissing through a stump, if you don’t bleed to death first._ He’d cried, cried and begged but his body did as it was bid, it rose and throbbed and convulsed in a humiliating parody of orgasm, spurting white onto the floor while a hundred voices laughed and hands applauded, and the juice kept pouring and the dog kept licking; he’d screamed as the stinking tongue tortured his over-sensitive flesh, screamed for what felt like hours until his body began to respond again, a second eruption torn from him, and an excruciating, dribbling third, and all the while the horrible briarstitch traced in ugly, amateur lines like thorns on the collar . . .

“No!” The force of his shout was like bursting awake from a nightmare. Kurt pulled his hands into fists and miraculously they went, and in a chain reaction the rest of his body fell heavily sideways as his muscles finally collapsed.

The room went silent as his cry drew everyone’s attention to the dais. Floppy and shaking, Kurt shoved himself backward, away from approaching servants and the image of the dog in his head. He pushed through the tapestry that curtained off the duke’s secret entrance alcove. It fell heavily behind him, cutting off his view of the high table and leaving him in near-darkness, still pressed to the floor. But alone. Thank the gods. His breath dragged in and out of his body in shuddering rasps that hurt his lungs and his heart was racing again, but at least he was mobile. He pushed himself up to sit, leaning heavily against the wall of the alcove, and tried to slow his panicked breaths. He counted, _inhale, one, two three, exhale . . ._ until the air was moving quietly, if not exactly slowly, quiet enough that he could feel reasonably sure none of the servants cleaning the hall would hear him and realize he hadn’t gone straight out the door at the far end of the alcove. If anyone discovered him sitting alone in the dark, they would tell, without question. Any indiscretion, no matter how tiny, was dutifully, often gleefully, reported.

He needed to make his way back to the duke’s apartments eventually. Loitering here was a risk, especially after the amount of time he’d spent wrestling with his body on the dais, but it was a risk Kurt had to take. Going back in this state was out of the question. He had to find his equilibrium and get the mask of the slut firmly back in place. Besides, his dick was still hard. Abject terror was never enough to make him lose his erection. On the contrary, fear only ever seemed to make him harder, as if the more intense his fear, the more his cock struggled to appease its tormentors through perfect obedience. It was one of the many things all those beatings had trained him for. And it was humiliating enough to walk around the castle naked. Waddling along with his stiff cock bouncing in front of him was too ridiculous to be borne.

Here in the alcove the wood parquet of the dais gave way to bare, cold stone and Kurt spread his legs in front of him as wide as the small space would allow, rolling forward to give his balls more contact with the icy surface. It hurt, enough to make him wince and stifle a groan, but the tears that sprang to his eyes were from humiliation, not pain. Unacceptable, he told himself firmly, blinking them back. Kurt Hummel did what he had to do. Kurt Hummel didn’t cry, not anymore, not unless they forced him to. And there was no shame in surviving. He focused on the pain. The pain was familiar. His balls always hurt. He’d grown as used to the deep ache as he had to the sexual need that had taken up permanent residence in the pit of his stomach.

Need. Not desire. Never desire. Gavin could force him to feel things – to need things – but no one could make him want them. He hated the times that the duke made him come only slightly less than he hated punishments. Because no matter how hard a grip he tried to keep on himself, there was always a moment, that split-second point of no return, when Kurt knew he was finally going to be allowed to fall over the edge of inevitability, that he wanted it. He craved it. He would do anything to be allowed to have it. A tiny fraction of time when, mixed with the intense, overwhelming pleasure, he was automatically and instinctively _grateful_. A moment, fleeting, but there, when he belonged to Gavin, body and soul. In the moment of orgasm, he truly was the duke’s slut.

Kurt held his breath and pushed down even harder against the floor, letting the pain wash his thoughts away as the chill from the stones finally began to seep past the heat of his flesh. Mercifully, the pressure in his cock started to loosen and he let out his breath in relief.  His hands were still clenched into fists; he forced them to relax as well, until his fingers lay flat against the stone floor. A fist was rebellion and rebellion was always swiftly punished. Kurt hadn't realized until he’d been taken how much frustration he’d vented all his life through clenched fists, carefully hidden in pockets or the folds of a tunic. Of course there were no pockets or folds now, not for him, and he had to be constantly aware of his hands, more even than his face. When he put on the mask of blank indifference it tended to stay in place. But his hands were always ready to betray him.

With breathing, cock and hands under control, Kurt closed his eyes and reached inside himself to find the core of stillness, the focal point of the part he had to play. The clink and clank of dishes being stacked on the other side of the tapestry helped him. Like the kitchen wenches, he was just part of the machinery of the castle. He had a job to do and he was ready to do it. He reached for the handle of the door and started to pull himself to his feet.

“Psst!”

Kurt’s heart slammed into his throat and he froze in a half-crouch. Being caught was the last thing he needed. He turned slowly, like a man facing execution, to look behind him.

No one was there.

“Psst! Mary!”

The voice was coming from the other side of the tapestry, in the hall. Kurt sagged back against the wall in relief, then glared down at his penis, which of course had gone rigid again from the sudden scare. He would have beat his head against the wall if he wasn’t afraid of being heard. Was one iota of control to much to ask?

“What do you want girl?” a second voice, full of exasperation, whispered back. “There’s work to be done.”

Kurt slid silently down the wall to sit back on the floor. He had to wait for his erection again, but that wasn’t the only reason he didn’t slip out the door. Eavesdropping on servants was something he rarely had a chance to do, and information of any kind was worth the risk of discovery. His father had used to say that knowledge was power, but Kurt had learned that, at least for him now, knowledge was often safety.

“Who was that man?” the first voice murmured with breathless curiosity. “The handsome on who was lurking in the doorway while the lady played with the slut?”

The second woman, Mary, laughed. Kurt recognized the derisive tone immediately. There were several Marys among the castle staff, but this was Mary the kitchen-keeper, who managed the serving staff with an iron fist and who never made any attempt to hide her distaste for Kurt, or for anything else. Nasty as she was, though, Kurt was thrilled to hear her voice. She was someone who was actually in a position to know things.

“Oh, that one,” Mary said, her voice dripping with more than her usual disdain. “That was _Mister_ Sebastian Smythe.”

“Who?” the girl asked, echoing Kurt’s thought exactly.

“He’s the under-steward at his grace’s estate at Greenway, in the north.”

“Greenway? What’s he doing down here then?”

“Not that it’s your business, but he comes twice a year to bring the estate accounts for his grace to review. Now if it pleases you milady,” Mary said, deceptively sweet, “would you care to do the job his grace pays you for?”

“He’s so beautiful,” the first maid said, a dreamy lilt in her voice and apparently no intention of obeying. The steward from Greenway must be beautiful indeed if just the thought of him was worth her risking the wrath of kitchen-keeper Mary.

There was silence for a moment, then, surprisingly, another huffing laugh from Mary. “I see how it is. Well take my advice girl. Don’t go setting your cap for that one. He’s not for you.”

“An under-steward isn’t too high for a kitchen maid to reach,” the girl protested.

“That particular under-steward is out of the reach of any maid, kitchen or otherwise.”

The girl groaned. “He’s married?”

“No.” Mary drew out the word, teasingly, and Kurt could hear the relish in her voice. She was starting to enjoy having a bit of juicy gossip to share.

“Well if he’s not married then I don’t see why I shouldn’t have a go at him.”

There was shuffling on the other side of the tapestry, as if Mary was pulling her listener deeper into a private corner, and when she spoke again her voice was so quiet that, close as they were, Kurt had to strain to hear it. “That one will never be married.” She paused dramatically, then finally, “He doesn’t like women.”

If the serving girl was half as stunned as Kurt was by the revelation, Mary must be very pleased with herself indeed. If Mary meant what he thought she did . . . Kurt had never in his whole life heard anyone even reference the idea out loud, much less attribute it to a specific person. Taunting innuendo was one thing, but serious accusation? Nothing in the world could have made him move now. He held his breath, desperate not to miss a word, and willed the girl to keep asking questions.

“What do you mean he doesn’t like women?” she obliged, loud enough that Mary hissed a warning.

“He prefers men,” Mary whispered, somehow managing to make the words sound titillating and disgusting at the same time.

Kurt inched silently closer to the tapestry that separated them. How in the world could she know such a thing? Was it possible that it was true? Or was it no more than spiteful speculation borne of dislike?

“Prefers them for what?”

Silence, then Mary must have found some non-verbal way to communicate her meaning because the maid gasped out loud and Mary had to shush her again.

“You mean to lie with?!” she finally said, in a tiny, shocked voice.

Kurt’s heart was racing and his hands had clenched into fists again. He didn’t even bother trying to loosen them. It would have been unthinkable, back in Pluna, to even speak about such things. But to attribute them to the duke’s own steward? How did she dare? And what if it were true? Kurt knew he wasn’t the only one, he couldn’t be, but to be open enough about it that you inspired servants’ gossip – who would take such a risk?

“That doesn’t make any sense.” The girl seemed to still be struggling with the whole idea. “Two men together like . . . like a man and a woman? It’s not possible.”

“By the Render, girl, what do you think his grace does with the slut?”

“I’m not stupid,” the girl protested. “I know the slut sucks his grace’s cock. But anyone can suck a cock. And it’s not like he _wants_ to do it, is it? And didn’t his grace just say one mouth is as good as another?”

“Take my word for it girl. Men can lie with men. It’s a perversion and an insult to the Maker and I wouldn’t dirty myself by explaining the details of it to you, and if we weren’t all living under corrupt western rule it’d certainly be illegal. That Sebastian is as deviant as they come. But don’t let that stop you from waving your tits in his face and finding out for yourself. After these tables are cleared.”

Mary must have started to walk away because when the girl spoke again it was louder, as if calling her back. “I don’t believe it!” she protested, pout heavy in her voice. “And I think it’s very wrong of you to spread rumors like that about respectable men. What would his grace say if he knew?”

There was movement then, the serving girl yelped, and jerked as if she’d been pulled, almost knocking into Kurt, who was standing so close to the tapestry that her movement made it brush against his bare skin. For a moment the only sound was heavy breathing from both women, and when Mary spoke again her voice was tight and harsh. “That _rumor_ was started by Sebastian himself,” she said, “the last time he was here. When another stupid wench decided to take a run at him. He came right out and told her, bold as brass. Said the only way he’d be interested in her was if she was hiding a cock under her skirts. So unless you’ve got a cock under your skirt . . .”

There was a rustle of fabric and another stifled yelp from the girl. Kurt suspected Mary was checking for a cock herself. He wouldn’t put it past her.

“And I’m quite sure you weren’t just threatening me. Because a smart girl would know that blackmail is grounds for dismissal without a letter. And that the right words in the right ears would ensure that no household in the eastern realm would ever take her on again.”

“No, no I didn’t mean to . . .” The girl’s voice was soft and contrite. “I just – it’s hard to believe anyone would come out and tell people something like that. It’s so wrong, like you said. Evil.”

Kurt was inclined to agree with her. Not about the evil part, of course, but the idea that someone would just announce what to him was the greatest secret he’d ever had – what kind of person would do that? What kind of person _could_?

“Yes, well, that Sebastian has always had conceit to spare,” Mary answered. “Above his station, if you ask me. And apparently they’re more liberal about such things elsewhere. They even have a name for it. _Reversed_.” The way she spat the word left no doubt as to what Mary thought about the liberality of foreign people and their names for things. “Like it’s nothing at all. Just another way to be. And since Mister Smythe is so determinedly _reversed_ , I suggest you forget about spreading your legs for under-stewards and turn your attention to your job. While it still is your job.”

“Reversed,” the maid repeated, drawing out the word, her distaste obvious. Then the tapestry fluttered again and the sound of dishes being stacked resumed. If any conversation continued between them it moved frustratingly out of Kurt's earshot.

Kurt pushed himself up the wall on shaking legs. He wrapped his hand around the knob of the hidden door to anchor himself. His breath stuttered in and out of his chest.

“Reversed,” he whispered, daringly, but he had to say it out loud. It had a name. And somewhere there was a place where people had given it a name. A nice name, not “perverted” or “deviant” or any of a dozen other ugly words that had been flung at him on a regular basis back in Pluna. Just a simple opposite. Other. _Reversed_.

And even more, right here in the castle, meeting with the duke at this moment, was someone who embraced that name, and that part of himself. And who wasn’t afraid to announce it to anyone who asked. Kurt couldn’t understand how such a person could exist. He’d never imagined, not even in his most cherished dreams of freedom in Concordia City, being able to openly express that part of himself.

And he wouldn’t, he told himself firmly, because he was trapped here, the duke’s slut. He couldn’t, he mustn’t forget that for a moment. Nothing had changed for him. It didn’t matter what happened in the north or the west because he would never see those places. What he would see was that damn dog and his briar-stitched collar if he didn’t get his head back together and pay attention to the things that his life and sanity depended on. The façade was the only thing that kept him safe. Distracted, he would make mistakes. And mistakes would lead to punishment. He took a breath, straightened his shoulders, arranged his features into the slut’s mask and turned the doorknob. The only important thing about the whole conversation was that it had taken his mind off his fear long enough to give his dick time to fall limp again. He could only hope his brain would soon follow its example.

But as he slipped into the mercifully deserted corridor, he couldn’t help imagining a beautiful man asking an incredulous serving wench if she had a cock under her skirt. And he couldn’t quite manage to squash the warm, golden glow the thought ignited in his chest.


	3. Chapter 3

Kurt did try not to think about Sebastian. He strove to remember that this day was no different from any other and that his only concern was to recover from his earlier terror and prepare to face whatever ways the duke chose to use him. He tried and he failed. Spectacularly.

It was an ironic fact of Kurt’s life as a slave that – sadistic nobles, terrifying punishments, and humiliating negotiations of the castle’s corridors in a naked and often turgid state aside – the biggest day-to-day challenge he faced was simple boredom. He really only had one job to do and when he wasn’t doing it – which was most of the time; the duke could only erupt so often – he was expected to kneel alone and silent in the corner of the sitting room where he now waited, until he was called to serve again. Hour after creeping hour. Day after endless day.

It must have looked to a casual observer like a very pleasant sort of captivity. The duke’s private apartment comprised five spacious, luxurious rooms. There was the bedchamber with its requisite canopied four-poster, a dining room, a washroom, a dark-paneled study shelved with books Kurt was sure the duke had never read, and this sitting room, all connected by a long gallery hung with paintings of the duke’s illustrious ancestors. Kurt’s corner was close to the fire to keep his naked body warm, and he spent his days surrounded by an opulence that someone who lacked his own liberal standards in such areas might have called gaudy. The cushions he knelt on were sewn from the kind of silk that had haunted his dreams back in Master Neric’s workshop, and they were stuffed with the finest eiderdown money could buy. Servants brought him food on a silver tray at mealtimes – the exact same delicacies that were delivered to the duke. When he wasn’t sucking cock or being tortured, Kurt was as well cared for as any expensive, exotic pet.

Given how unpleasant any kind of activity was for Kurt, it would have been reasonable to assume he’d welcome its absence. And he did, of course. But boredom was an unexpectedly insidious enemy. It snuck up on him and enticed his mind with memories that were better forgotten if he was to keep up his mask of obedient slut. It would start innocently, luring him in – _so warm today maybe it’s spring and the snowdrops will be blooming soon –_ but then his mind would take him back to the clearing behind the miller’s pond where he used to hunt the first snowdrops with his mother, so long ago. They’d pick them and bring them inside to brighten the house after the long winter – and then the snowdrops would become the wildflowers he’d scattered on his father’s grave, alone, after the earth had been tamped firmly into place, scattered with his arms held high so that the wind carried some of them to fall against his mother’s stone as well. And then the trail would lead to the day his father’s apprentice had burst into Master Neric’s workroom, eyes wide with panic, and how alone Kurt had felt on his first night in the garret over the shop after the master and his wife had taken him in. Or his eyes would drift closed and he’d see Master Neric, laid out pale on a mattress the very day before Kurt had been taken, felled by a stroke, the rise and fall of his chest the only indication that he yet lived, although Kurt had to assume he was dead by now. His last memories of the old man who’d been his second father were of him unconscious and unresponsive, with his wife Genaa crying quietly by his bedside and their son Cale the Render only knew where. Already hard at work squandering whatever legacy his father had to leave him.

But it wasn’t just the past that confronted Kurt during his long hours alone in the corner. His lost future haunted him as well. The journeyman’s letter that he’d worked so hard for, tucked safely in the box of keepsakes he kept under his bed in the garret. That letter had meant, at long last, freedom. He’d had to choke back tears when Master Neric had signed it with overlarge swoops of the pen and pressed it into Kurt’s hands. With that letter Kurt could leave Pluna and go anywhere, although there was only one place he had ever intended to go. All his life he’d dreamed of Concordia City with its tall towers and sweeping ocean vistas. Master Neric would tell him tales while they worked of the beautiful city where he’d been born and had grown to mastery of his craft. Love had taken the master away from the city, love for a woman he’d met passing through Pluna on his way to fulfill a commission for an eastern countess. He’d finished his work but never returned to the white city by the sea. They still remembered him though, he always told Kurt. His work had been favored by the highest nobles. And the letter he’d given Kurt, he promised, would guarantee work in any of the best establishments.

Kurt didn’t know where the box which his father had made long ago as a wedding present to his mother was now. Gone, probably, and the letter along with it. And the ribbon that had tied his finger in place during the first months of his apprenticeship; the flowers he’d kept and carefully dried after each of his parents’ funerals; the little wooden dolls his father had carved for him when he was only five or six. The dolls, a man and a woman, had been Kurt’s first dressmaker’s forms. He’d kept a few of his early creations for them as well, folded neatly alongside the dolls, and one precious square of bright yellow silk embroidered with flowers and butterflies. It was all gone. Left in a box under a bed in an attic in a world that was lost to him now.

Those were the places Kurt’s mind tried to go during the long empty days of his captivity. Distracting himself, while still keeping aware and watchful, was a constant struggle. It was no wonder that as the silent and lonely afternoon dragged on Kurt found himself thinking that Sebastian the steward was actually just the kind of distraction he needed. After all, he’d probably never see the man the maids had gossiped about, and since that man was at this very moment just down the hall in the duke’s private study, thinking about him was practically synonymous with keeping aware of his surroundings. Sebastian was an innocent diversion, Kurt persuaded himself. The rare kind of distraction that didn’t portend something horrible for the duke’s slut. It was no wonder that he soon found himself in deep contemplation of the beautiful, mysterious, _reversed_ stranger the women had described.

Sebastian was like him. That was the thing that most captured Kurt’s imagination. It wasn’t just that he liked men, although that in itself was excuse enough. Mary had called Sebastian conceited and _above his station_ – words that Kurt was intimately familiar with from his years in Pluna. Like Kurt, Sebastian seemed guilty of the unforgivable crime of being different and having ambitions that reached beyond the borders of a small-minded, backwater village. And though he was just a steward, he knew himself and refused to hide who he was. He lived in a way that Kurt had hardly dared to dream of being able to live. How could Kurt not be fascinated by such a person? Especially when that person’s voice kept drifting to his ears, tantalizing him with unintelligible snippets of not-Gavin from behind the study door? What were they talking about, Kurt wondered. Crop rotations probably. Or how many head of cattle were to be sold at the summer auctions. But although his common sense knew that Sebastian was here simply to report on the state of affairs at the Greenway estate, Kurt’s imagination wrote its own story of what was going on behind closed doors.

Burt Hummel used to say that his son could turn two cows grazing at opposite ends of a field into an epic of thwarted romance to rival the most sweeping sagas of the Maker and the Mother of All. To which Kurt would reply that at least the cows were real, earning him Burt’s _why do you have to say that kind of stuff out loud where anyone can hear you_ look. But the fact remained that once ignited, Kurt’s imagination accepted no constraints. And it was true that the steward’s message had come just in time to save him from a terrible punishment. Sebastian had lingered in the doorway of the great hall – _lurked,_ the maid had said. Watching him. And the girl in the hall had called the steward _beautiful._ And Kurt had never been able to resist the romance of storybook princes riding to the rescue in the tales his mother used to tell him when he was a boy. It was the tiniest leap from those things to imagining a man with the strong muscles and close-cropped fair hair - Kurt cast him in the image of the miller's apprentice back home, the most beautiful man he'd ever seen - coming to his rescue in a variety of swashbuckling ways. It was perfectly fine to indulge, he told himself. As long as he remembered that none of it was real, where was the harm?

The mystery of Sebastian was a brilliant flame to Kurt’s lonely, cloistered moth. By the time darkness began to fall outside the room’s windows and Reginald, the duke’s rabbity valet, appeared to light the lamps, Kurt had abandoned caution and was thoroughly enjoying the fantasy of Sebastian, daring savior, willing to take on the exalted Duke of Eastreach and determined to right the wrongs that had been committed against the poor, enslaved journeyman tailor. The frowning servant who laid Kurt’s supper on the table next to his cushioned nest interrupted a noble Sebastian confronting the duke right there in his study, threatening vague retribution unless Kurt was allowed to go free. The six o’clock chiming of the grandfather clock found Sebastian leaving the castle that very night and racing back to the fabled, open-minded north where he’d easily rouse a band of outraged free-thinkers to come back and liberate Kurt by sheer force of arms. By the time Reginald made his second round, to turn down the duke’s bed and set out his nightclothes, the dashing steward was scaling the castle wall to appear at the window of Kurt’s bedroom and secret him away to safety under cover of darkness. Exactly how Sebastian was supposed to climb three stories of bare stone, Kurt didn’t bother to worry about. Heroes always found a way.

So for just the one afternoon and evening Kurt let himself forget about cocks to be serviced and punishments and noblewomen who had the power to destroy what little safety he’d managed to carve out for himself. For those few hours he let himself enjoy the kind of fantasies that had once defined his life. He let himself remember just a little bit of who Kurt Hummel had been. He let himself dream until the study door opened and the duke and his steward parted company in the gallery. Then he packed Kurt Hummel back behind impenetrable walls while Gavin made his way toward the sitting room and Sebastian slipped through the main door into the public hallway and out of Kurt’s life, sight unseen.

The slut fell into place with practiced ease and if there was a new hollow space where _Kurt_ had been, it was easy enough to ignore, especially with the duke stalking into the room. It was immediately obvious that Gavin was in a terrible mood. He ignored Kurt completely and shouted for drink, then berated Reginald for bringing wine when he wanted spirits. Reginald rang for a bottle of whiskey, Gavin retreated to his washroom, and the page who delivered the decanter was rebuked so soundly through the door for his lack of speed that, once dismissed, he fled as if the Render himself was at his heels.

Kurt weathered Gavin’s storm as he always did: by trying to make himself invisible in his corner. He sent all thoughts of muscled blonde stewards back behind the wall with his other self and concentrated instead on counting inhales and exhales and the bite/break of imaginary stitches, building the slut’s mask of calm stronger with each one. He was going to need all of his control tonight. An angry Gavin was dangerous all on his own. Add strong drink and the possibilities presented by the damned Montrose woman and this night could turn very bad indeed.

Kurt held his breath as Gavin returned from the washroom, followed by an extra-obsequious Reginald. But the duke didn’t give any indication he was planning the leave the suite for an assignation. He completely ignored both servant and slave and paced the room in silence, swigging whiskey from a crystal tumbler as he went. Kurt kept his eyes down but tracked the duke's feet in their expensive tooled-leather boots as he stalked around the room. When he'd drained his glass he paused near Reginald for a refill then resumed pacing, muttering words Kurt couldn’t make out under his breath. Kurt could see by the way the valet's weight shifted in his dainty shoes that the duke's manner made him uneasy too. But Kurt, though just as nervous, had to be grateful for anything that wasn't Gavin meeting up with Lady Montrose and giving her a chance to make him aware of his slut's secret rebellion. He didn't want to imagine what the punishment for that would be.

Finally Gavin stopped pacing and dropped his bulk with a thump into the big leather armchair which directly faced the spot where Kurt knelt. He didn't dare look up, but Kurt could feel Gavin's eyes on him. He waited for a command, prepared to run and suck, or present himself for some kind of abuse. But Gavin still didn’t speak. The silence went on, pulling at Kurt’s nerves until he hung on the precipice of he didn't know what and his heart began to beat like a blacksmith’s hammering. Not fast, but hard, heavy, each throb fighting against the weight of dread and fear. The duke had never . . . contemplated him like this before. It was new and new was seldom good. Kurt carefully inventoried all his danger zones.  _Face blank, hands loose, jaw relaxed._  He had no doubt Gavin would throw him to the dogs for the smallest mistake.

“Get over here slut.”

It was so unexpected and loud after the long silence that Kurt started. Reginald must have as well; the stopper clattered sharply against the neck of the whiskey bottle.

“Yes master.” At least he had enough control to keep his voice from shaking. Kurt rose immediately, as gracefully as he could manage, and crossed the room to sink to the floor again a few feet from Gavin’s chair. At least he was allowed to walk. In his training he’d been made to crawl everywhere, but Gavin enjoyed the sight of him falling to his knees so he was usually spared that indignity. A small mercy, but mercies were few and Kurt tried to appreciate the ones he had. He clasped his hands behind his back and bowed forward even more than usual, hoping to appease Gavin’s strange mood with an extra show of submission.

He expected to have his mouth fucked. This was how it worked at the end of the day. Unless Gavin was going out to find his release elsewhere, he would stand up, open his pants, and shove his cock down Kurt’s throat. And Kurt would have welcomed it, tonight, because it meant there was no chance the duke would be spending more time in the company of Lady Montrose. But once again Gavin did nothing, said nothing. He leaned back in the chair, sipped his whiskey, and contemplated Kurt. Kurt’s heart was battering painfully against his ribs now, and dread danced along his nerve endings and made his soft cock fill with anxious blood. Nothing about this evening made any sense. Gavin was a creature of habit. The known, no matter how unpleasant, was always preferable to the unknown. He couldn’t prepare himself for the unknown. There was no way to defend against it.

Finally, as the silence dragged on, Kurt dared to murmur timidly, “May I serve you, master?” Even the prospect of being punished for speaking out of turn was starting to seem preferable to this interminable waiting for the gods knew what.

Gavin drew out the stillness for the space of several more heartbeats before he said, “Fetch the glove, Reg.”

Pent-up breath left Kurt’s lungs in a rush of relief faster and louder than it should have. Fortunately, Reginald’s startled, too-loud, “Right away, Your Grace!” covered his gasp.

An edging, then. Only an edging. Edging Kurt could handle. It wasn’t pleasant, but morning and evening edgings were almost a clockwork certainty in Kurt’s life. He’d nursed a tiny hope that he might avoid it tonight, after the display in the great hall at dinner, but given the wealth of other activities the duke could have had in store for him, a third edging was definitely a lesser evil. His cock thickened further and although Kurt usually cursed its traitorous excitement, tonight he only hoped its submission would help mollify its master.

Reginald was back in a flash, eager as always, already pulling on the rough leather glove that was kept for this express purpose. The glove, with its heavy nap and exposed seams, was meant to make sure that discomfort always accompanied Kurt’s pleasure. Kurt would have liked to have told Gavin that nothing about this was pleasurable, but his well-trained dick now stood at full mast and as he’d predicted, the obvious excitement seemed to placate Gavin. He chuckled over the rim of his glass, a dark, lustful sound that made Kurt’s skin crawl, but better dark and lustful and  _here_  than off sneaking into Lady Montrose’s bed. Before he had to be commanded, Kurt folded himself into the position he knew Gavin would want him in – still kneeling, leaning backward with his forearms on the floor behind him and his head hanging so he couldn’t see what was about to be done to his body.

“Well someone’s eager.”

And it wasn’t even as if the duke was wrong, Kurt thought. The bent-backwards position curved his body into a bow with his jutting cock at the apex and his balls swinging heavy below it. At least not being able to see kept Kurt from even accidentally glancing at either of the men whose eyes were no doubt fixated on his genitals. He knew too well how their faces would reflect the different flavors of lust his suffering inspired in them. Seeing it reduced and objectified him and made it harder to hold onto the part of himself that was separate from the slut.

The downside was that he couldn’t see what was about to happen; the first touch of the rough glove, fingers cupping his balls, surprised him and he gasped out loud.

“It seems my slut’s extra sensitive tonight, Reg,” Gavin said, starting to sound more relaxed, more like Kurt expected him to sound. “But then I imagine he would be after all he’s been through today. This should be fun for you.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” The valet seemed eager, but his hand, directed by Gavin of course, didn’t move. It simply held Kurt’s balls and caressed the tight skin around them with one heavy thumb. The friction was harsh, even painful, but Kurt’s body responded anyhow. His need was a constant fire, but usually a fire tamped down to hot ash and embers. When he was touched like this the embers sparked up, loud and demanding. And they flared now, obedient as ever. The stroking of that single thumb built him up and his cock twitched with each round, begging for more. Kurt just wanted to be over.

So, serving both desires, he pushed his hips upward and tightened his groin muscles to make his cock jump even harder.

He didn’t always perform. Often, like on the dais at dinner in front of so many people, the humiliation was too much to bear. Mostly, though, he just hated doing any more than he absolutely had to to please Gavin. But pleasing Gavin seemed increasingly important as this evening went on. Kurt could smell the fumes from the whiskey even bent over backward and facing the wrong way. And that, combined with the moodiness Gavin had shown since he’d parted ways with Sebastian, made tonight feel frightening and dangerous.

Kurt pushed the thought of the steward away. He didn’t want Sebastian to be part of this. He didn’t want to imagine what Sebastian would think if he could see Kurt like this, offering his body up for torment.  It was part of the training, Gavin making him position himself, making him ask to be used. Kurt had no choice, but the illusion that he was colluding with his captor was powerful, no matter how emphatically he reminded himself that he was only doing what was necessary to survive.

At least his desperate act was working. “I think he wants your hand on his cock, Reg,” Gavin practically purred. “What do you say, slut? Ask nicely and I’ll consider it.”

 _Fuck you,_  Kurt thought, but what he said was, “Please, master.”

Gavin cleared his throat.

“Please may I have your valet’s hand on my cock, master?” Kurt’s face burned as he said it.

“There we go,” Gavin said. “Well go on, Reg. Give the slut what he wants.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” The valet didn’t even try not to sound excited. He squeezed Kurt’s balls once, hard, just to torture him, then slid his gloved hand up to grip Kurt’s cock.

Much as he hated to admit it – and he really, really hated to – it was a relief to finally have some pressure against his iron-hard flesh, as counterbalance to the need. His cock flexed against Reginald’s fingers as if greeting an old friend. Which made sense. Kurt’s dick and the valet’s hand shared a long and intimate acquaintance. Gavin downed his whiskey in loud slurps as Reginald began to stroke, pumping Kurt’s cock fast and hard. It was always like this, rough, no buildup, just a headlong rush to the edge of satisfaction and no further. Gavin liked it that way. No-nonsense frustration. Get Kurt there quickly then leave him hanging, desperate, frustrated, and – Gavin imagined – obedient in the hope that someday he might be allowed to tip over that edge.

This was where Kurt’s body parted company with his brain. Kurt hated the edgings, hated being made such a literal plaything. He hated the rough friction that stirred up heat and need. But Kurt’s starved flesh embraced the pleasure, familiar and hot, tightening in his balls and warming his belly. His body whispered, then demanded, then screamed at him to give in to the sensation. His body didn’t care that there was no release waiting for it at the end of all the teasing. It wanted to fuck against the gloved fingers, scratch the itch that was always, always there and so rarely assuaged. Having to fight his own body every single time sapped Kurt’s will. He’d rather be beaten than endure his body begging for the torment Gavin used to control it.

Kurt didn’t know how many times he’d been allowed to come in the six months he’d been a slave. He refused to keep track of how long it had been, like it was some kind of treat he craved. He was Kurt Hummel, damn it, and the one thing in the world the Duke of Eastreach couldn’t control was his mind. The one thing that couldn’t be commanded was his desire. All the same, he really wanted this to be over. And like it or not, the more he sold it, the faster that would happen.

It didn’t take much effort. All he had to do was let his body do what it wanted to anyhow. He began to pant, dragging air into his lungs in long, dramatic shudders. He let himself gasp when Reginald ran the palm of the glove over the swollen head of his cock on each upstroke. He kept his reactions one step ahead of the pumping fist so despite his cock’s eloquent dancing, he was still far from any real danger of coming when he felt the first of the slick pre-fluid dribble from his slit. That was his cue. Thank the gods Gavin wasn’t a leaker, so he was happy to assume that the slick meant orgasm was imminent. And Kurt wasn’t about to disabuse him of that notion. He let a moan escape his tight throat, strangled, as if he was fighting against it, fucked a few times into Reginald’s hand, because it felt so good no matter how much he hated it, and murmured with just the right touch of desperate reluctance, “I’m close, master.”

The gloved hand disappeared. Kurt’s cock begged to chase it but he forced his hips still. He was done. The show was over.

“Did I tell you to stop?” Gavin asked in a quiet, dangerous voice.

Kurt’s breath caught. Gavin always called a halt at first slick. Always. And on those few occasions that Kurt had been made to come, it was done quickly and perfunctorily, without the teasing buildup of an edging. This, again, was something new. Something that hadn’t happened before – except on the dais that afternoon with his dick in that woman’s hands but Kurt wasn’t going to think about that.

“N-no, Your Grace,” Reginald responded. Kurt could hear the hesitation in his voice. This was uncharted territory for the valet too. If he made Kurt come without an express command from the duke, there would be consequences. Not as terrible as the ones Kurt would face, that was certain, it was always going to be worse for Kurt. But he was sure to feel Gavin’s wrath in some way.

“Then why is your hand not on his cock?” Gavin snapped.

“Forgive me, Your Grace.” The hand came back immediately, but not as tight, not as fast as before. Unfortunately, Kurt was scared now, and his dick's standard reaction to fear more than made up the difference. It throbbed and writhed against the valet’s grip and spouted more slick, which was absorbed into the leather of the glove. The dampness made the slide even rougher, catching in all the wrong sensitive places. Kurt stared at the shadows dancing on the ceiling and tried to stay in control but the heavy need in his balls sent pleasure rolling through his body in waves that seemed destined to peak and crest. He didn’t know if Gavin was deliberately pushing him over so he could be punished after all. He didn’t know what the duke wanted of him, so he fell back on what he knew.

“Please master,” Kurt begged and Reginald stroked, and he didn’t have to fake the tremble in his voice this time. “I’m so close, please.”

The only response was a long slurp from the glass of whiskey.

It was hard to believe that the hot fire in Kurt’s dick and balls could coexist with the ice cold dread that now filled his belly. But the need wouldn’t be extinguished. Reginald’s hand, even as slowly as it was moving, was a gorgeous torment. Kurt clenched his teeth and tried to clamp down on his burgeoning eruption. He couldn’t come. He wouldn’t come.

But suddenly it was  _there_ , a heavy whirlwind spinning out from his balls to encompass his whole body, and he could see the orgasm at its heart. It loomed only strokes away. Reginald’s hand was loose and slow but it wasn’t going to stop without a command from the duke. There was nothing Kurt could do to make it stop and he was going to come. He was going to come without permission. It didn’t matter whether he wanted it or not, his body craved it and with it lurking so close his body whispered seductively inside his head. _Give up_ , it tempted him. _Let go_. Let the pulsing release that was always just out of reach crest over and possess him. All it would take was the tiniest moment of surrender. It was inevitable. And in its swelling promise Kurt had to struggle to remember why the fuck he was fighting it back.

Because the punishment for coming without permission was the dog.

Kurt abandoned form and obedience and all the rules he’d been taught and cringed away from Reginald’s hand as best he could in his contorted position. “Please master,” he babbled, “please, I don’t want to disobey you but I can’t stop it, gods, I can’t, please . . .”

The hand disappeared again.

Kurt didn’t even try to control himself. A despairing moan rumbled from his throat and his hips fucked spasmodically into the air, over and over again, mindless and desperate to bring back the slowly retreating orgasm. His balls spasmed with sharp, agonizing pain that made him want to weep and scream, but he ground his teeth together and held it in, collapsing awkwardly, legs still twisted under him. He lay panting on the carpet, his eyes closed, overwhelmed by sensation and need and humiliation and fear.

Another slow slurp from the glass. Then, “Well that was fun.”

For a long moment the only sound in the room was Kurt’s hitched gasping.  Finally Reginald cleared his throat with a tiny, tentative cough. “Shall I . . . go and prepare Your Grace’s bedchamber for the evening?”

Even in his state, Kurt could remember that Reginald had already prepared the bedroom. He hated the valet, but he couldn’t blame him for wanting to escape the unpredictable turn the evening had taken. Gavin must have given silent permission because Kurt opened his eyes just in time to see Reginald scramble toward the door. When he was gone, Kurt turned his head back to stare at the ceiling, trying to relax his face back into its mask of passivity and drag his breathing under control.  _Forestitch, backstitch, wavestitch, prickstitch . . ._

The leather of the chair squeaked as Gavin pushed out of it. He clucked his tongue in an exaggerated  _tsk, tsk_  sound and ambled over to the side table where Reginald had left the decanter of whiskey. “Well, slut? Don’t you have something you need to say to me?”

Kurt struggled up off the floor and onto his knees. Gavin was refilling his tumbler; Kurt could see the golden liquid sloshing unsteadily against the glass. Of course the duke was going to make the most of the situation.  _Fuck you,_  Kurt thought. Silent rebellion helped him focus.

“Thank you, master. I don’t deserve your mercy.” It was dramatic, but the way this night was going Kurt figured a little overkill couldn’t hurt.

Gavin just stood by the table, drinking his whiskey and studying Kurt. At least Kurt assumed that’s what he was doing. Kurt didn’t dare raise his eyes higher than Gavin’s waist, where the bulge of his erection was a prominent peak under his velvet breeches. That was good. Gavin’s hard-on was familiar. Kurt could do something about it.

But Gavin didn’t make a move or signal Kurt forward to serve him. The oppressive silence continued; Kurt had to suppress the desire to fidget against it. “I only ever want to be obedient to you, master,” he tried again, just in case Gavin was waiting for more.

“Very prettily said,” Gavin drew out the words as he spoke, “but that wasn’t the kind of thanking I had in mind.”

So this  _was_  all about a blow job. Thank the gods. Kurt lifted himself higher on his aching knees, trying to ignore the vulgar way his cock thrust up, still hard as stone. He lifted his head into position and held his throat open, prepared, because Gavin loved to try to take him unawares with his first thrust. Gagging, of course, was punished.

But still Gavin didn’t move, didn’t unlace his breeches and brandish his dick like a trophy in his usual manner. Instead, he picked up the decanter of whiskey and carried it over to yet another armchair, this one deeper, upholstered in heavily brocaded fabric. He settled into it like a king taking his throne, set the decanter on the table beside it, and spread his legs wide before turning his attention back to Kurt.

“I think we’ll do it this way tonight.”

“Whatever you say, master.” Kurt stood, and had to suppress a wince as the movement jostled his tender balls and stretched the overworked muscles around his knees. He took his time making his way to the new chair, letting his muscles loosen as much as he could before he had to pull them back into position again. He was still apprehensive. It seemed too easy. He’d rather be face-fucked – it was cleaner, with no illusion that he was making a choice to participate. But still, it was only a blow job. There had to be a catch.

He reached for the ribbons that held Gavin’s breeches closed, pulled out the bow and unlaced them, and then performed the same routine on the rougher strings of the duke’s underclothes. Gavin’s cock sprang out from the layers of fabric, stiff and fat and eager as ever.  _Fuck you,_  Kurt told it silently.

It was another irony that, for a word that had become such a crucial part of his internal vocabulary, Kurt had said “fuck” out loud exactly once in his life. On the day he woke up from a drugged sleep, not in his warm bed in the garret but naked on a cold stone floor carpeted in a thin layer of straw, with two men barking orders at him and pulling him to his feet. Frightened and disoriented, he’d instinctively cupped his hands to conceal his genitals. One of the men had ordered him to put them behind his back and, desperately, without really thinking, he’d shouted it,  _fuck you_ , and had been backhanded for his trouble. Then, almost before he could register the tang of blood in his mouth, a hand had gripped his balls and squeezed, hard, until his legs collapsed out from under him and he was left retching helplessly into the straw. The very first lesson of Kurt’s enslavement had been to keep his rebellion silent.

By now  _fuck you_  was his automatic reaction when faced with the source of all that was terrible in his life. Gavin’s cock. The enforced center of Kurt’s existence. He stared it down.  _Fuck you to the heart of the Render’s void and back again._

“May I serve you, master?” Kurt was required to ask before he touched Gavin’s precious cock.

“Get to it,” the duke replied, and Kurt could smell the reek of alcohol when he spoke.

Kurt shuffled forward – and realized immediately what the catch was. The chair was just deep enough that he couldn’t get his mouth around the duke’s erection without pressing his body, and his swollen cock, against the rough fabric. Every motion of his head rocked his body into the chair with a pressure that he knew would inevitably lead him right back to the orgasm he’d just narrowly avoided.

He shifted this way and that, pulled his knees back as far as he could, and at last found a position that left only the tip of his cock brushing the coarse fibers of the upholstery. It was a strange sensation, part irritation, part tease, but Kurt was pretty sure it wouldn’t be enough to actually make him come. He resolved to ignore it and applied himself to pulling the duke’s dick into his throat and sucking hard, grateful that at least Gavin didn’t like to linger over his eruptions.

A hand came down hard on the back of Kurt’s head, impaling him with Gavin’s cock deep in his throat. “Take your time, slut,” he said, slurring a little around the consonants. “And stop fidgeting.”

Kurt forced himself to go slack and still in silent acknowledgement, but the hand stayed in place until his lungs started to burn and his throat spasmed around the intrusion. When Gavin finally released him he gasped, barely managing to suppress a cough, and went to work again, slowly this time.

He had no idea how long it took Gavin to come. He licked and sucked, mouthed with his lips and teased with his tongue, and as he moved the constant gentle scritch of the fabric against the head of his cock went from teasing to maddening to a completely new kind of torture. It burned and itched, but it was an itch that also tantalized with mounting pleasure. It wasn’t going to make him come; it was too rough on such a sensitive place for that. But it pushed him into an ever-mounting state of need that reminded him, as if he needed reminding, of every iota of frustrated release pent up inside him. It became all he could think about, and his hands clenched impotently against his thighs as he fought not to touch. He bobbed his head in a slow, steady rhythm around Gavin’s hot cock, using every trick he knew to try to bring the duke to the edge. But the alcohol worked against him and every time he felt that it was close, and sped up as much as he dared to try to help the process along, Gavin would push him down again, choking him and forcing him back to that slow, frustrating, going-nowhere speed.

Eventually, the intensity of the constant friction on that one hyper-sensitized spot brought tears to Kurt’s eyes and he began to pray to gods he didn’t believe in to just let the fucking duke fucking come. He didn’t know what he was being punished for, and he didn’t care anymore. He just wanted it over. When Gavin finally stiffened and grunted and spilled his load in Kurt’s mouth, Kurt almost cried with relief. He was defeated and exhausted and all he wanted was to go back to the room where he slept, soak his aching cock and balls in a bucket of cold water, and collapse into bed.

“Thank you, master,” he said, as he was expected to, once he’d swallowed. He made sure Gavin’s cock was clean then tucked it back inside his clothes, lacing up both layers before moving away from the chair. At that exact moment the clock chimed – eight bells – and Kurt’s heart sank. It was only eight o’clock. There was plenty of time for more.

But maybe someone actually heard his prayer, because the duke said, slurring even more than before, “You can go. I’ll ring for you in the morning.”

Kurt couldn’t believe his luck, but this was the one strange occurrence in this whole bizarre evening that he wasn’t going to question. “Thank you, master,” he said sincerely, and he pressed his forehead to the ground in a brief prostration, just for good measure. As he pushed back up he saw a dark stain spreading over the fabric of the chair where his cock must have leaked into it. He’d be punished for that, when it was discovered. He was too tired to care.

He rose to his feet much less gracefully than usual and backed away toward the panel between the fireplace and his cushioned corner that hid a secret door into the servant’s corridor. He felt his ass hit the wall, turned, and reached for the latch to spring the panel.

“Just one more thing, though.”

Kurt froze. He was done, just done with this whole, strange, overwhelming night. And so close to his escape. He knew he should turn and kneel, but his body flatly refused to obey him any longer and so he stood, staring at the wall, longing for the relative safety of the hallway beyond, while Gavin got up and crossed the room. The smell of the whiskey reached Kurt before the duke did.

“Look at me, slut.”

Gavin had never told Kurt to look at him. When he wanted Kurt’s eyes on him he’d simply grab his hair, as he’d done on the dais today, and turn his head in whatever direction he chose. Otherwise, Kurt was always expressly required  _not_  to look at him. He held his breath and turned.

His first inane thought was that the duke was shorter than him. It was absurd, under the circumstances, to even notice it but this was the first time they’d ever stood face to face, and a kind of heavy fog was filling Kurt’s brain and the fumes from the duke’s breath were making his head swim and he felt a crazy desire to giggle. Gavin always seemed so  _big_. Not fat, specifically, but more like a man who had been powerful in his youth now has gone soft and spreading with age. His eyes were dark, muddy and slightly unfocused from the drink. His lips glistened in the lamplight. He was still angry, Kurt could tell, but there was something else in his expression too, something avid and intense that Kurt couldn’t identify. Kurt was sure he should say something. He should acknowledge Gavin, maybe a  _yes, master_ , but right now, looking  _down_  at the duke, he feared that if he tried to speak he would laugh out loud. He wondered vaguely if this was the beginning of hysteria.

“I almost forgot,” Gavin said, “you’re going to have a visitor tonight.”

Suddenly Kurt didn’t feel like laughing at all. Images of Lady Montrose in her ice blue gown competed with Gavin’s face before his eyes. Was this it? Was this what tonight had been about? Was he now going to be turned over, tired and defenseless, to the woman who’d stripped away his pretense so easily at dinner this afternoon?

“I’ve been meeting with my steward today.”

Kurt’s mouth fell open, stupidly; he knew he should close it and try to pull himself back into a semblance of control, but he’d reached some kind of absolute limit and he couldn’t. He had no idea what was going on. He couldn’t follow the plot any more. He couldn’t even try.

“He’s done me a great service,” Gavin went on slurring, as if Kurt wasn’t gaping at him like a half-dead fish. “At my Greenway estate. A very great service. I wanted to repay him.” The duke’s shiny lips pulled into a dark and predatory imitation of a smile. “A bonus, you could say, for going above and beyond the call of duty. I gave him his choice of rewards. Money, advancement, anything he wanted.”

Something was happening inside of Kurt. And if he wasn’t so tired and frightened and if his cock wasn’t hard and his balls didn’t hurt, he might have been able to sort something intelligible out of the tangle of words coming out of Gavin’s mouth, more words than the duke had ever directed at him at one time. Something important was happening. This was all leading up to some horrible climax, something that made Gavin angry and gleeful at the same time. Something that made Gavin  _look_  at him.

The duke slapped a hand against the wall next to Kurt’s head, smiled wider when he flinched away from it, and leaned so close that the skirt of his doublet brushed Kurt’s cock and made it twitch. For one terrible moment Kurt thought Gavin was going to kiss him, but then the fleshy lips slid past his face to whisper hot and smelly in his ear.

“He chose you.”


	4. Chapter 4

Kurt’s mind went blank, wiped clean except for the single thought that he should probably be having some reaction to what Gavin had said, good or bad. But his brain refused to provide one.

Gavin’s face came back into Kurt’s line of sight as he pulled away, not far – his hand still leaned into the wall next to Kurt – but enough that Kurt could see his head teeter drunkenly on his neck. His lips were still in his sickly approximation of a smile.

“Oh don’t worry. I’m not _giving_ you to him. No, he just wants to use you.” The hand left the wall then and one finger poked unsteadily at Kurt’s chest. “A little slut to call his own.”

“But he’s gone,” Kurt whispered, forgetting to say _master_ , forgetting everything except that Sebastian had most definitely left without saving him.

“What?” Gavin’s brows came together in such an overblown expression of confusion that it would have been comical in any other situation. “Oh, no, that was just today. No, he’s here for days and days.” He punctuated the days with little pokes at Kurt’s chest before turning and walking away, finally, weaving his way back to his whiskey tumbler and leaving Kurt to sag against the wall without the malevolent presence holding him up. “It’s a big estate. So much to do.” Gavin refilled the glass and waved it in Kurt’s direction, his unfocused eyes and the golden liquid reflecting the lamplight in glinting shards. “And at the end of every long day, he’s going to come to you.” He stalked back toward Kurt again. “And the best part, the very best part,” he was close enough now to reach out and grab Kurt’s still hard, eternally hard, cock, “is that he’s a proper deviant. The gods only know what he wants to do to you.”

Gavin’s hand was a crushing pressure that made Kurt wince and cringe against the wall, but still his cock swelled and throbbed against it, obedient, doing its best to appease. Gavin held his gaze and for just a moment the drunken bleariness cleared and his eyes focused sharply on Kurt; a predator, stalking its prey. “I’m guessing you’re about to learn all sorts of new tricks. What do you think?”

“Please,” Kurt ventured breathlessly, “don’t.”

“Oh it’s out of my hands now. It’s done.”

If Kurt expected that comment to be explained, he was disappointed. With one more squeeze of his cock, the moment of clarity ended and Gavin’s gaze fuzzed again. He opened his hand and wandered away, aimlessly, around the room. “You’re going to do exactly as he tells you,” he intoned in a kind of singsong recitation. “You’re going to serve him as you would me. You are going to make damned sure he enjoys his reward.” He dropped into the wide leather chair where he’d started the evening and saluted Kurt with his glass. “I imagine he’s on his way to your room right now. If I were you, I’d run.”

Kurt ran.

The secret door latched closed behind him and he hurtled down the servant’s corridor, feet slapping the bare stones, trying to stay one step ahead of the breaking wave of panic. He clutched his balls with one hand – humiliation be damned, the bouncing _hurt_. He ran, not to his room, but past it to the end of the hallway and the stairs down to the lower levels.

Perfect, he thought as he ran. Brilliant. Fantasize about the steward; that was completely safe. There was no way that could come back and bite him in the ass. Sebastian the savior: just the thing to entertain him in his boredom. Well he wasn’t bored now, was he? Boredom was the very least of his problems now. He flew down the corridor so fast he set candles flickering in their sconces in his wake, but not fast enough to outrun the image of Sebastian – _reversed_ Sebastian – transformed from handsome blonde prince to just another asshole lusting after the naked boy who wasn’t allowed to say no. Kurt was about to face the worst thing imaginable – the unknown – with his head spinning and his body throbbing and it was just as much thanks to his own stupidity as Gavin’s unpredictable behavior.

But wasn’t it possible, a renegade corner of his brain whispered, that this was part of the plan? It was smarter than trying to climb the castle wall, wasn’t it? Kurt squashed that thought like a spider underfoot, violently, and without mercy. Hope was a killer. Hope would crush you faster and more thoroughly than any beating or punishment. A hope like that, proven false, could destroy him utterly.

He pounded down two flights of stairs, almost knocked into one incredulous servant making her way up, and rounded the corner into the spring room so fast that he had to grab the door jamb to keep himself from tripping over the page dozing just inside. The boy jumped to his feet, mumbling excuses, but when he realized who had woken him he flushed an ugly red and turned away. Anger flooded Kurt’s body, chasing away even the looming fear. The boy couldn’t have been more than fourteen. Shocked out of sleep by the duke’s gasping, naked slave, sporting a fiercely upright erection and cradling his own balls in his hand. This, like everything else about Kurt’s life, was so completely and utterly _wrong_ that he had an overwhelming desire to grab every bucket from the shelves lining the back wall of the room and smash them one by one against the stones.

Fortunately he had enough practice controlling that particular desire that, even in his current extremis, he was able to let it go and get on with the business at hand. He had no time for propriety. He stepped past the boy, grabbed two of the banded wooden buckets, and shoved the first under the pipe that pumped spring water from deep underground. The icy water spilling over his hands was good. Its sting cleared his head and sharpened his purpose.

His mental composure was a lost cause. He was going to have to face whatever this under-steward wanted from him with no protective mask of detachment. But if he could get back to his room before the steward, at least he could use the cold water to freeze his body into submission. Soaking his balls was part of his routine every night, to ease the pain and blunt the need, but tonight it was more crucial than ever. He couldn’t afford to be on edge both emotionally and physically.

He filled both buckets halfway and flew right back out the door, past the mortified page still facing the wall, and up the stairs at a pace only slightly slowed by the water he was lugging. Two flights up again, down the hallway, third door on the right. He flung it open and the relief of finding the room empty left him lightheaded. No Sebastian. Yet. When the door latched behind him he dropped the buckets and leaned against it to catch his breath and try to untie the knots in his stomach.

Someone had already been in to light the fire and his lamp. Together they cast flickering shadows on the walls and sparse furnishings: a simple bed against the far wall, the straight-backed chair beside its head, and, hidden more deeply in darkness, the washing alcove in the corner. Mary the kitchen-keeper had pointed out more than once in Kurt’s earshot that sluts were meant to sleep at the foot of their masters’ beds, on the bare floor, and consider themselves lucky if they were given a blanket. Whether or not that was true, the current Duke of Eastreach had a paranoia about sleeping in the presence of others. No one, not even Reginald, was allowed to enter the suite in the morning until the duke rang. So despite the alleged tradition, Kurt had been assigned this room to sleep in. It was without a doubt the greatest of his few mercies.

The privacy it offered was mostly illusory. It had a door but no lock, and no one ever bothered to knock. Servants came and went at will, collecting linens or delivering meals and firewood, flinging the door open and slamming it closed with no concern for what he might be doing inside. The room’s previous occupant, he’d heard, had been a favored servant of Gavin's father the old duke. The man had been dying from some kind of wasting disease. The features that made it an ideal sickroom also made it perfect for a slave who was kept always naked and had to be meticulous about cleanliness. The fireplace kept him warm and allowed him to heat water for bathing, and the ingenious washing alcove had a clay-tiled floor with a drain embedded in it to carry away waste water. It even had a window – something servants’ quarters usually lacked – to bring fresh air to the patient and through which Kurt could sometimes lose himself in contemplating the stars at night and forget, for a brief time, the frightful reality of his situation. And although people came and went with no concern for his privacy, once the fire was lit for the night Kurt could usually expect no visitors until his breakfast was delivered at daybreak. In the dark of the night, the room was the one place he could drop the mask and let himself be.

Except now it wasn’t.

There wasn’t much time. He chided himself for dawdling and grabbed the chipped pottery basin from the table. He set it on the floor then hefted one of the buckets to pour cold water into the shallow bowl. Just the sound of the water splashing had his balls trying to crawl back into his body to escape the dunking they knew they were about to receive. Fortunately for them, but not so much for Kurt himself, two sharp raps from the other side of the door exploded into the quiet.

 _Fuck_.

He shoved the bowl and buckets closer to the wall and jumped to his feet, backing away from the door until the backs of his knees hit the side of the mattress on the bed. It was happening too fast, too soon; his damn cock was still hard, his need still rough and edgy, his heart skipping in frantic rhythm that he could feel from his throat to deep in his belly.  He wondered if he should kneel. Gavin had said _serve him as you would me_ and Gavin always expected him to kneel. But just the thought of getting on his knees for this stranger made Kurt sick to his stomach. No. Anything Sebastian wanted, Sebastian was going to have to demand. Kurt wasn’t going to offer.

Two more knocks broke the silence, sending Kurt’s stomach lurching into his throat again. But then . . . nothing.

Kurt watched the firelight flicker on the dark wood of the door and wondered wildly if it could possibly be that simple. Could the steward be waiting to be invited in? Was he stupid enough to think that Kurt would open the door to his tormentor? Could it be, Kurt thought for a giddy, hopeful moment, that lacking acknowledgement, he’d give up and go away? 

Apparently Kurt’s luck didn’t stretch quite that far, because the knob turned and the door began to arc slowly inward.

Frozen, almost hypnotized, Kurt held his breath and watched it move, dropping his eyes to the floor at the last possible second. He didn’t want to face the reality of Sebastian Smythe any sooner than he had to. He didn’t want to see lust and danger in the eyes that he’d imagined on his rescuer. So instead he saw feet. And legs. Feet in plain, scuffed leather boots. Legs in dark linen breeches. Feet and legs that turned to close the door behind them then came back again to point directly at Kurt. The steward – _Sebastian_ – was here and Kurt could not look. He would not look. Because despite himself, the tiny flame of hope was flickering again and if he met Sebastian’s eyes and found nothing in them but desire he was afraid he might not survive it.

But as silence dragged on and no words of reassurance came, the flame sputtered and died inside him. Sebastian was just like all the others. Inflamed by Kurt’s body, his apparent helplessness. He just needed to speak and the transformation from hero to villain would be complete. 

They both stood silent and perfectly still. The only sound was their breathing, Sebastian’s slow and steady, Kurt’s faster, shuddery, no matter how hard he tried to control it. The longer Kurt waited for his visitor to do something – anything – the more the disappointment and humiliation of it burned inside him; naked, hard of course, under the steward’s silent gaze. His cock putting on its usual show. Giving the impression that Kurt wanted . . . any of this. As the seconds dragged by the impulse to look up, or fall to his knees, anything to just get this terrible uncertainty over with, grew like a weed in his mind. Kurt crushed it ruthlessly, the effort tightening his hands into fists that he didn’t bother trying to force open. He wasn’t going to move and he wasn’t going to look. He was exhausted and his nerves were frayed and he just wanted it to be over, but he refused to do anything to help this pervert in cheap clothes use him. He didn’t know what the fuck the steward was waiting for, but he’d been told to follow orders and that was all he was going to do. His jaw clenched against the tension and his knees began to tremble, but his eyes stayed glued to the floor and the plain brown boots.

Suddenly the boots took two steps closer, only two, but the legs were so long that those two steps crossed the room and brought Sebastian so close that he filled Kurt’s peripheral vision. So close that Kurt could _smell_ him: leather and soap and the familiar scent of homespun cloth.

And still he didn’t speak. He made no move to touch Kurt, to lift his chin or reach for his dick. He stood as calmly as if he was inspecting a piece of furniture, not a living human being he planned to violate. He stood and waited, like this was a game, some kind of competition to see who would acknowledge whom first. Kurt’s fists clenched tighter and his nails bit pain into his palms but he kept his head down, staring at the boots, trying to think only about the boots, dull boots that absorbed the light instead of reflecting it the way Gavin’s shiny ones always did.

The thought of the duke brought Kurt back to his senses so fast that he had to suppress a gasp. What good would his reasoning do if Sebastian complained about him? He had no idea what the punishment would be for failing to be an adequate reward for the steward. He didn’t want to know. Any punishment would be worse than whatever Sebastian had in store for him. Just the thought scared Kurt enough that he finally surrendered and slowly, oh so slowly, raised his head.

He knew immediately that his imagination had been all wrong. This man was nothing like the muscled miller's apprentice he'd conjured up in his head. The legs were slim and went on forever, until they gave way to an equally endless torso in a simple, untucked white shirt. It was laced at the sleeves and, Kurt saw as his eyes continued upward, at the neck, where it opened onto smooth skin highlighted by the lamplight. The shoulders were broad but lithe and the sweep of neck above them was broken by a jut of larynx; Kurt focused on it and breathed once, in and out, before taking the final step in one quick motion and facing Sebastian. 

The maids had been right. He was beautiful. Not thick and blond but dark and handsome in a sharp, angled way. He was younger than Kurt had expected, hardly older than Kurt himself, he guessed, and taller, with full lips and dark eyes that reflected the flickering light. It was too dark to make out their color but the intensity was obvious. He was staring at Kurt, pinning him with his eyes, with the avid anticipation that Kurt was used to seeing from people who coveted his body, but something else too. A question, or a challenge, Kurt wasn’t sure exactly what it was that gave Sebastian’s gaze something no one else’s had ever had, but it was there. And then the soft lips tugged up at the corners into a ghost of a smile and one dark eyebrow lifted and suddenly Kurt knew exactly what Sebastian was thinking.

_That wasn’t so hard, was it?_

Kurt really hoped his silent  _fuck off and die_ was just as eloquent. From the way Sebastian’s smile widened into a grin, he suspected it was.

Kurt recalled what Mary had said – _conceit to spare, above his station_ – and he understood now exactly what she’d meant. Sebastian held more space in the room than he actually took up. He had an air of someone who expected to be noticed, and his simple clothes almost seemed finer because of the way he stood in them. That kind of crafting of illusion was something Kurt had experience with himself, but he shoved that thought away. He was done identifying with this man.

And still he didn’t speak. Was this all Sebastian had come here for, Kurt wondered. To look at him? To have silent conversations with his eyes? Was there something Kurt was supposed to be doing? Maybe Sebastian was waiting for Kurt to fall to his knees and suck his cock. And maybe he should, but Kurt had reached a breaking point. If Sebastian wanted something, Sebastian could damn well ask for it.

And as if Sebastian had read Kurt’s very thoughts, the challenging eyebrow arched again and the enigmatic gaze flickered up to a point over Kurt’s head.

Kurt didn’t have to turn around to know that he was looking at the rope that hung from the high ceiling over his bed. The rope had been there when Kurt arrived at the castle; just a plain length of braided hemp tied off to a hook in the ceiling. The kind of thing that would help an aging invalid lever himself into and out of bed. He supposed it had been installed for the room’s previous occupant and no one had ever come to remove it so there it had remained, hanging down to a short arm’s length above the mattress.

It was as obvious as it could be that Sebastian wanted him to climb on the bed and hang onto the rope, but Kurt didn’t move. He lifted his chin and stared back at Sebastian with as much strength and confidence as he could muster under the circumstances, issuing a challenge of his own.  But Sebastian seemed equally determined to do this silently. His dark eyes narrowed and he tossed his head upward in the direction of the rope, a clear if unspoken order. Once again, the specter of Gavin reared its ugly head. If Sebastian told Gavin that Kurt had been disobedient, it didn’t matter that no actual command had been spoken. Gavin was going to punish first and ask questions – not at all. 

If looks could actually kill, Sebastian would have burned on the spot. As it was, he merely waited out Kurt’s thought process, still with that infuriating smile. And Kurt knew he had no choice. He’d never had a choice. He gave Sebastian one last glare for good measure, turned and climbed onto the bed. He knelt facing the door, and, after a second pointed glance upward from Sebastian, stretched his arms up to grab the rough rope above his head, as close to where the hook tethered it to the ceiling as he could reach. The slack hung down in front of him just low enough to brush his cock where it stood up against his belly.

Sebastian stared up at him with hungry, bottomless eyes. It made Kurt feel even more exposed than usual, being stretched out like this with his hands above his head. He felt helpless, as if he was tied to the ceiling instead of simply holding the rope. He was even more aware than usual of the vulnerability of his nipples, cock and balls, although Sebastian didn’t even spare a glance for his body. He kept looking into Kurt’s eyes, like he was trying to connect with him in some way Kurt couldn’t fathom. Kurt pressed his lips together and very deliberately closed his eyes against Sebastian’s attempts. Let the steward do what he wanted. Kurt would endure it silently and with perfect stillness. He wouldn’t give Sebastian the satisfaction of any reaction. There was no connection between them; Kurt was a slave following orders. He wasn’t going to let this idiot bumpkin pretend it was anything more than that.

 _Fuck you,_ he chanted his familiar refrain. _Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you._

A loud, harsh sound startled Kurt so that his eyes flew open without authorization. Sebastian was moving the wooden chair from its position by the head of the bed to a spot directly in front of Kurt. Kurt scowled at him. He could have easily picked up the chair, but Kurt was sure he'd dragged the feet across the floor specifically in order to startle him into looking. Sebastian didn't miss Kurt's glare but his smile didn't falter one iota. He paused though, before he sat, and reached out to Kurt. Kurt barely managed to control the urge to flinch away. But Sebastian only took hold of the loose end of the rope and moved it so that it hung behind Kurt instead of in front of him, brushing at the curve of his ass. Then, still staring up at Kurt, he sat down, legs spread wide. Seated, with Kurt kneeling above him on the bed, he was almost exactly at eye level with Kurt’s erection.

Then slowly, excruciatingly slowly, Sebastian leaned forward, closing the distance between his face and Kurt’s body. Kurt watched him come, transfixed, caught in complete confusion as to what Sebastian could possibly mean to do. It wasn’t until the soft lips parted and Sebastian’s tongue slid into view that it hit him.

“Please!”

Kurt had sworn to remain silent, but nothing, not even his pride, especially not his pride, was more important than avoiding punishment. And if Sebastian actually meant to put his mouth on Kurt’s cock, Kurt was going to come. He’d never been touched that way. He’d dreamed of being touched that way. And after all that he’d been through today his body was tight as a wire and ready to erupt with the slightest encouragement.  

Sebastian leaned away and looked up at Kurt again, clearly pleased with himself – more than that, triumphant. He knew he’d won whatever little battle they’d been silently fighting. Kurt’s dick expressed its disappointment with a single flexing throb. But even in victory Sebastian didn’t speak. He lifted that infernal eyebrow again, questioning.

Kurt hated himself, but he couldn’t risk it. “I’m not allowed to . . .” His face burned and the heat from the fire seemed to overwhelm the little room.  He struggled to find the right words. To ask without pleading. “I can’t disobey.”

“Please . . .?” Sebastian prompted, speaking at last. Just the one word, softly, leading Kurt.

Kurt thought about closing his eyes and refusing to speak again, whatever the consequences. Then he thought about the dog.

“Please don’t make me come,” he said, haltingly, hating Sebastian for making him beg.

The little smirk came back. “I wasn’t planning to,” Sebastian said, as if that should have been perfectly obvious.

Hatred burned in Kurt’s heart almost as hot as the excitement that burned in his cock as Sebastian again leaned forward with parted lips. He closed his eyes again, not out of stubbornness this time, but because he didn’t think he could bear to watch.

A wet heat that could only be Sebastian’s tongue pressed against the base of Kurt’s cock and dragged upward. Long before it reached the tip Kurt knew he was in big, big trouble. It wasn’t even a matter of having been edged three times that day, or that his usual emotional safeguards were in tatters. There was no defense that could have stood against the sensation of that wet tongue on his burning flesh. The soft slide along his shaft was bliss and there weren’t words to describe the feeling of it flicking the sensitive spot just below the head, then teasing up and over the crown - soothing the spot that Gavin's chair had abraded to ultimate sensitivity. Kurt pressed his lips together so tightly they hurt, biting down on the sound that wanted to escape. He tried to force his brain into his _fuck you_ chant, but his body was done being drowned out. As the burning tongue retreated to a tiny point brushing intimately, powerfully into his slit then lifting away, his hips, completely beyond his conscious control, pushed forward in unashamed begging for more.

Kurt had never experience anything like it. Pleasure and pain were always intertwined for him, and that was good, he was grateful for the rough way Reginald handled him. It helped him stay detached in control. But this – this was so much more cruel than anything Gavin’s valet might do with his leather glove. He’d almost given up control earlier despite the pain – how was he supposed to resist Sebastian’s warm and gentle tongue? He gripped the coarse rope so tightly that his fingers ached and bit his lips to keep himself silent.

But then Sebastian’s soft mouth closed around the crown of Kurt’s cock and _sucked,_ and the moan wouldn’t be suppressed. It broke free and filled the room with the essence of Kurt’s frustrated desire. The tongue drew searing shapes over his swollen head, gathering up slick as it went, and Kurt knew he should try to pull away or even beg Sebastian to stop if that was what it was going to take, but he didn’t have the strength anymore. He’d dreamed of this since his earliest adolescence, of beautiful men doing delicious things to his body to make him writhe and moan, and although he knew in his head that this was a terrible perversion of those fantasies, his body did not care. It only wanted more of the silken promise of Sebastian’s mouth and the revelation of the feathery brushes of tongue. His body screamed at him to let go, give up, _feel_ , and his tired vulnerable brain was losing the will to fight. 

The moment of surrender came with a hand, warm and gentle, cupping his engorged scrotum even as the lips teasing the head of his cock slid down farther and deeper, sucking Kurt’s length into the hot cavern of the mouth. Sebastian’s fingers toyed with him, rolling his balls ever so gently against each other inside their sac, and the dizzying pleasure began to build to its inevitable, beautiful breaking point.

“Oh please,” he murmured, and under pain of death he couldn’t have said whether he was begging for or against, “I’m so close.”

The hand on his balls disappeared. The mouth stopped moving, but it didn’t retreat. Perfectly still, it held his cock, resting between the soft wet tongue and the hard arched palate. It was just enough stimulation to keep the orgasm Kurt craved right there, boiling through his balls. All it would take was a choice, and a few short thrusts, and gods, Kurt wanted it more than he could ever remember wanting anything. He longed to know what it would feel like to come inside the hot perfection of that mouth and to spill down that throat and feel that gorgeous suction again pulling each shuddering paroxysm from his body. It was that thought, after enduring the gods knew how many weeks of painful frustration, which finally broke him. He pulled back to make the fateful thrust, but as his cock slid sweetly out over Sebastian’s lips, Sebastian’s lips kept moving, away, gone, leaving Kurt suddenly and desperately bereft, rutting at nothing, fingers cramping tight against the rope fibers and tiny animal noises of denial escaping his throat.

He practically hung from the rope, overwhelmed by conflicting sensations and unfamiliar emotions. He had no idea how long it was before the burning that had taken over his body finally began to recede, and with it the despair for the pleasure that had been so close. In its place came shame and anger, at Sebastian but even more at himself, for surrendering everything that mattered to him so easily, with just the brush of a gentle tongue. With a single touch Sebastian had overcome him and even in his exhausted, vulnerable state it shouldn’t have happened. The things Kurt had lived through – the things he’d resisted – he was _strong_ , damn it. He'd proven that a million times over. He kept his walls in place and they never got inside his head. But he’d let Sebastian sweep all his defenses away in moments – simply because it felt good.

When he finally opened his eyes, there sat Sebastian, still in the chair, watching his face with the same hungry intensity.

“Well you did ask me not to make you come,” Sebastian said. “I’m a man of my word.” Then he spread his legs wider in a gesture Kurt had seen too many times to misinterpret.

“I need a minute,” Kurt said, abandoning any pretense of being in control. His refusal to defer to Sebastian, even in his current state, was a meager victory. If there had been a battle, then Sebastian had won and they both knew it.

Sebastian inclined his head graciously, making Kurt grit his teeth at the hubris, and pushed the chair back from the bed with another grating slide over the stones.

Kurt closed his eyes again and counted as he breathed, until his gasping evened into long, slow inhales and exhales. When he was relatively sure that an accidental bump against the mattress wouldn’t be enough to push him over the edge, he forced his hands to give up their hold on the rope above his head, opened his eyes, and, with Sebastian watching every move, climbed down from the bed to kneel obediently on the floor between the so-long legs. He kept his eyes down; he didn’t want to see what effect his capitulation had on Sebastian. He could see the outline of Sebastian’s erection under the dark linen and he reached for the strings that held the breeches closed.

At least this was simple, familiar. One cock to suck, and then odds were good Sebastian would leave him alone, at least for tonight. And maybe by tomorrow night Kurt would have had time to pull himself back together and face Sebastian with his defenses firmly intact. Just the thought spurred his fingers to attack the laces and pull both breeches and underclothes down far enough to free Sebastian’s cock.

It was big. Bigger than Gavin’s (although that wasn’t much of a feat); bigger than Kurt’s, although clearly just as eager. Well size didn’t matter, not since his training. Kurt leaned closer, opened his mouth wide, and took it in one slide down to the root.

Sebastian’s involuntary gasp gave Kurt his own moment of smug triumph. Of course he could take it all. His gag reflex had been the first thing they’d beaten out of him. Five strokes with the thick leather belt, which fell like the Render’s fist and burned like hellfire; five for each sputter, cough or choke. After his training Kurt could have taken three of Sebastian. He slid his mouth up and almost off, then down again, sucking hard as he went, just to force Sebastian to make that noise again.

Once again Kurt remembered Gavin’s words – _serve him as you do me_. Well Gavin liked it hard and fast and Kurt was sure what was good enough for the duke was good enough for his steward. He attacked the cock, pumping and sucking as if his life depended on it. Sebastian’s long fingers curled around the seat of the chair and tightened like they were clinging to a lifeboat in stormy seas. His breath came sharp and broken by tiny sounds pulled from his throat against his will, and as Kurt dragged him closer to eruption the sounds escaped louder and more often until finally his hips thrust up and Kurt sank down and held himself there while Sebastian spilled down his throat with one sustained groan.

Kurt pulled off the softening dick with a pop and settled down on his knees, pushing himself back as far from Sebastian as he could, until his bare back pressed against the side of his mattress. He didn’t do Sebastian the courtesy of closing his breeches; the wilting cock splayed against them until Sebastian managed to unclench his hands from the chair and rearrange his own clothing. Kurt wanted to stand, but he didn’t think he had the strength. He kept his eyes stubbornly on the floor, though. He wasn’t going to look at Sebastian again. 

“Well that was intense,” Sebastian said, as if Kurt was waiting for a review, “although your technique could use a little work.”

 _Fuck you,_ Kurt thought, more for the principle of the thing than because he had any particular feeling about what Sebastian had said. Mostly he was just numb. That was a good thing.

Sebastian sat a moment longer, while Kurt struggled to keep himself upright. Exhaustion had reached a critical level. He felt drained and heavy and desperately wanted his bed. At last Sebastian rose, dragged the hard chair back to its place by the head of the bed, and made his way to the door. From Kurt’s perspective he left as he’d arrived, just a pair of worn boots moving across the room. They didn’t turn back at the door, and Sebastian didn’t speak, he just slipped out and pulled the latch shut behind him.

Alone, finally, Kurt crumpled forward where he knelt, hands over his face. He wanted to cry but Kurt Hummel didn’t cry anymore. Not unless they forced him to. He wanted to scream, but he’d be heard, he couldn’t afford that. There was only one kind of release available to him, so he uncurled and crawled over to retrieve the bowl of water he’d shoved under the table. It wasn’t as icy as when he’d collected it, but it was still cold enough to get the job done. He hefted himself up over it and sank down with a gasp, plunging his cringing balls and still hard dick into the sharp and expiating chill.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning Kurt woke up slowly, eased to consciousness by the warm, bright sunlight on his face - a nice change from the usual wrench out of sleep by the slamming of the door as a surly servant deposited his breakfast with as much noise as possible. And yet, when he rolled over and opened his eyes, the tray was there, sitting covered on the little table, and the fire was built up from morning embers. A kettle of warm water rested on the hearth; he could see steam drifting up from its spout. And a pile of freshly-laundered washing rags was folded neatly next to the tray.  He flung off his blanket, enjoying the fact that the morning chill had been chased away, for once, before he had to brave the room naked. He wondered if they’d given slut duty to someone new. Someone who hadn’t yet figured out that he was supposed to be mortified at the thought of serving the duke’s pet, and that he should make his displeasure known as loudly as possible.

Whatever the reason, Kurt was happy to take advantage of it. He’d slept the heavy dreamless sleep of true exhaustion and he felt stronger. Clearer. More ready to do battle with Sebastian than he’d been the night before. At least that's how he felt until he swung his legs over the side of the bed and set off a chain reaction of push and pull that made everything below his waist sing with pain. His balls were always tender, but after the workout his cock had gotten yesterday – he couldn’t even remember if it had been three edgings or four – the muscles all around its base, his lower belly, and his inner thighs ached too. He groaned out loud as he levered himself onto his feet and found that he couldn’t even walk normally. The three steps to his breakfast tray were tight and mincing.

At least his cock was only half hard, probably thanks to the soaking he’d given it before he went to sleep. He didn’t want to know what it would feel like to get an erection in this state.

He pulled the cover off the pewter plate to find a thick slice of bread covered with melted cheese, and a ripe green pear. The bread was still warm, the aroma of the cheese mouth-watering, and Kurt brought the plate carefully back to his bed and pushed the window open so he could feel the breeze on his face as he ate. He glanced occasionally over his shoulder at the summons bell mounted on the wall next to the door, but it remained still and silent. It didn’t worry him, though, that no one had rung for him. The duke wasn’t an early riser in the best of circumstances and Kurt suspected that, after all the whiskey last night, today would be far from the best of anything for Gavin. He savored the idea of Gavin holed up in his dark bedchamber nursing his hangover, while he sat almost happily, with good food and sun and the chattering of washer-women hanging laundry in the side court under his window.

His mood rose even higher when, with a clatter of wheels over cobbles, an ornate carriage rolled into the slice of the entry courtyard visible between two wings of the castle. He could just make out an army of servants loading bags and boxes; Lord and Lady Montrose were taking their leave as promised. Although Lady Montrose had been demoted by Sebastian to the lesser of Kurt’s present problems, seeing the back of her still gave him one less thing to worry about.

He sat and munched his pear and watched until the lady, resplendent in a red travelling gown, was handed into the carriage by her husband, who mounted his horse and led a small caravan of coaches and horsemen out through the main gate. Just before the carriage passed out of sight, Kurt could see Lady Montrose lean out her window, twisting back to take a last searching look at the castle. He drew back from the window, instinctively, though he told himself there was no way she could have spotted his face among the many facades and decorations that adorned the castle walls. Still, he breathed a sigh of relief when the caravan disappeared, safely on its way back to Concordia City.

Now Kurt had just one problem to deal with. And he had a plan.

He didn’t know quite why he was so set on provoking Sebastian. The smart thing would have been to simply do as he was told and get through the week with as little difficulty as possible. But something about the steward demanded provocation. It was as if Sebastian had issued a challenge that Kurt couldn’t bring himself to ignore. Maybe it was the months of capitulation and obedience finally catching up to him in some terribly self-destructive way – Kurt didn’t know and, honestly, he didn’t dare examine his motives closely enough to find out. He just knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t to whatever he could to obstruct Sebastian’s will. His instinct for self-preservation, so finely honed by his captivity and enslavement, completely failed him where Sebastian was concerned. And the thought of even minor open rebellion made him feel strong and in control. It made him feel like Kurt Hummel.

So tonight he would be ready. He would have his body under control and, more importantly, his mind would be clear and focused. There would be no moaning or pleading. When the arrogant steward arrived at Kurt’s door he would find Kurt more than a match for him. All Kurt had to do, for the next twelve hours or so, was _not_ think about that hot, wicked tongue. Although that might be easier said than done. Just the passing thought of Sebastian’s tongue touching him so intimately, with such exquisite gentleness, had his cock perking up and his slit twitching like an invitation.

He tried to distract himself by making good use of the warm water and soft cleansing rags that had been left on his table. He scrubbed every inch of his skin twice over, until it was tingling from the combination of strong lye soap and vigorous exfoliation. But every movement tugged at his tight muscles and reminded him of why they were sore. And although there were several edgings that could be blamed for his current state, his mind stubbornly insisted on dwelling on the last: Sebastian and his teasing, sensuous tongue.

Still, Kurt did his best. He stretched out the stiffness, ruthlessly; he was no stranger to coping with pain. As his muscles loosened he turned his attention to other parts of his body. He refused to use the harsh soap on his face – he could feel his skin drying up at just the thought – so a good rub with the wet rag had to suffice. He would have given almost anything for a cake of his mother’s gentle homemade soap. He knew his skin should be the least of his concerns, but maintaining his standards was another thing that made him feel more like himself.

As he washed he checked all the appropriate places for stubble and counted it another point in favor of this day that he found none. His slow-growing body hair was another of his mercies. He was required to be shaved, cheeks to ankles, at all times. As he wasn’t allowed a razor, this service was performed by the duke’s barber and Kurt hated submitting to it. The barber was one of the few people who seemed actually sympathetic to Kurt’s plight, and while Kurt appreciated his empathy, being forced to shave the most intimate body parts of the duke’s slut made the man nervous and chattery. Nervous and chattery with a straight razor pressed to those intimate parts. And it didn’t help that Kurt’s cock never failed to go rigid as the barber moved it around to shave his balls and belly. In fact, the gentler the man tried to be, the more arousing it became for Kurt. More than once he’d had to ask the man to stop when the stimulation became too much, and he couldn’t have said which of them was more mortified by the situation.

But today, thank the gods, he remained perfectly smooth. He cleared away the washing mess, folding the used cloths neatly and emptying his buckets of water down the drain in the floor, and he was just settling the domed lid back on top of his breakfast plate when the bell on the wall chimed in summons.

At least after all the stretching he was able to walk almost normally. The servants corridor was busier than it had been last night, but most of the maids and pages going to and fro were too immersed in their own duties, or too used to seeing the slut walking around in the nude by now, to pay much attention to Kurt. The secret entrance to Gavin’s apartment was only across the hall and three doors up and Kurt slipped quietly through it and into the sitting room.

The suite was dim, the draperies all drawn against the mid-morning light. It was empty as well, but as he was arranging himself on the silken pillows in his corner by the fire the door to Gavin’s bedchamber opened, very slowly, and Reginald tiptoed carefully out. The valet tended toward the dramatic, which Kurt usually found annoyingly affected, but after the strangeness of the duke’s behavior last night even Kurt could forgive his exaggerated care.

Reginald didn’t speak to Kurt – he never did if he could help it – but it was obvious from the way he silently eased the door closed that Gavin wouldn’t be making an appearance anytime soon. Kurt almost bounced with glee. Everything was aligning perfectly today. No Gavin meant no morning edging or blow job, nothing to ruffle his careful composure. All he had to do was stay focused and he was home free.

He shifted off his knees to a more comfortable position and was settling in for the long wait, trawling his own thoughts to find one that might be safe to occupy himself with,  when he noticed Reginald lingering, eyes darting aimlessly around the room as if he was trying to make up his mind about something.  Kurt glanced guiltily at the chair where he’d blown Gavin the night before. The stain from his slick could be seen even in the little bit of light that managed to peek through the cracks where the draperies met the walls. Was there some punishment waiting for him already? Had Gavin given orders before he’d passed out? Kurt held his breath, but Reginald only stood for a moment longer then took two indecisive steps closer to Kurt’s corner of the room.

He was holding something, Kurt realized. The brocaded doublet Gavin had been wearing the night before. And his etched ebony sewing box.

It was only with the utmost exertion of will that Kurt managed to move no muscle and make no sound. No one watching would have suspected how his heart began to race, or how his fingers prickled with desire. With superhuman effort he remained the picture of perfect composure as the valet took another step closer, and another, until he finally deposited both garment and box on a footstool nearby and retreated across the room. As he disappeared into the dining room he pulled one of the draperies aside just far enough to flood Kurt’s corner with sunlight.

Today could not get any better. Kurt stared hungrily at the mound on the little stool and slowly counted to ten. Just to be safe.

The first time had been an accident. A mistake, really, on Kurt’s part. A loss of control that could have had disastrous consequences. It had been a cold winter afternoon just two months into his tenure in the castle. Kurt had been kneeling in his corner as usual; Reginald was in the bedchamber preparing the duke for an outing. His Grace was in high dudgeon, banging around the room and cursing so creatively that Kurt had felt grateful, that afternoon, that his title was slut and not valet.

“Leave it and get the yellow one, idiot!” And with a suddenness that had made Kurt startle, a heavy cloak of royal blue had come flying through the door to land on the sitting room floor, followed by a black box that had narrowly missed Kurt before rebounding off the wall and spilling its contents all over the parquet.

Needles. Packets of needles and tiny spools of jewel-toned thread and leather thimbles and Kurt had had to hide his clenched fists in the cushions as Gavin emerged, resplendent in yellow, followed closely by an obsequious Reginald. They both swept out of the suite and were gone before the last spool stopped spinning across the floor.

Thus had commenced what had felt like the longest hour of Kurt’s life. He could see from where he knelt that the cloak had been torn, a ragged gash close to the hemline, and the valet’s attempt to repair it had been laughably inadequate. He knew he shouldn’t touch it. He fought as hard as he could against the temptation; he counted breaths and chanted stitches but it was no good. The opportunity to hold a needle in his fingers again, to remind himself of who and what he really was, had proven irresistible. He _needed_ it, so badly that his eyes filled with tears of longing. When he’d finally broken it had been in a rush, scrambling over to pull the cloak into his lap, fumbling for a thimble, and before he was really even aware of what he was doing he’d folded himself into the familiar position he’d always taken at Master Neric’s board and had Reginald’s ugly stitches half picked out. He didn't really appreciate the full scope of the risk he was taking until he was finished with a perfect repair and had replaced everything exactly as it had fallen. Only then did he fully understand that he'd broken his most important rule. He wasn't just risking punishment. He'd given Reginald and by extension Gavin vital information about who and what he was. But even then he couldn't quite regret the hour he'd spent being himself.

Reginald had returned to the suite before the duke, thank the gods. The cloak lay where he'd left it but the change was obvious. Reginald, however, had simply swept up the cloak and gathered the fallen bits of the sewing kit and retreated to the duke’s closet without a word.

After a few days on pins and needles, expecting accusations and punishment at any moment, Kurt had overheard Gavin ask for the blue cloak, and remark on the new repair. And with Reginald’s “I always want to do my best for you, Your Grace,” Kurt knew he was safe. Reginald had knowledge, but it was knowledge he couldn't hold over Kurt's head without exposing his own lie.

After that, from time to time, carefully chosen times when the duke could be expected to be away for several hours, Reginald would wordlessly deposit items from Gavin’s wardrobe on the little footstool and disappear. Every time Kurt tried to resist and every time he failed. He always chose to take the risk. The relief of holding a needle again was so intense it took his breath away.

Today, Kurt didn’t even hesitate. He snatched up the doublet eagerly, trusting that Reginald wouldn’t have given it to him if he wasn’t sure the duke was safely indisposed. Today of all days, when he needed both distraction and composure, the chance to lose himself in sewing was a gift from the gods. If he kept having this kind of luck, Kurt thought as he threaded a needle with sky-blue silk, he might even have to reexamine his stance on their existence.

It was perfect. So very perfect. By the time the doublet had been repaired with tiny, invisible stitches, Kurt’s calm was so complete that he barely startled when a knock on the door from the public hallway broke the silence. The doublet was already folded back on the stool, sewing box sitting next to it. Reginald appeared from the dining room and hurried down the hallway. Voices drifted back to Kurt and he realized that it must be Sebastian, come to meet with Gavin for more accounting. Sebastian’s self-assured tones brought back memories of the night before and stirred in Kurt’s belly but he breathed deeply and conjured up the feeling of the needle in his fingers. The voices rose until Kurt could hear them – Sebastian was insisting on being admitted despite Reginald’s protests that the duke was unwell – but Kurt’s pulse never quickened, not even when a double door slam indicated that Sebastian had won the argument and been admitted to the room next door. Reginald returned to claim the doublet, muttering to himself about people who put on airs, and Kurt permitted himself a tiny smile once the valet’s back was turned. He was ready.

Gavin eventually appeared, well after noon, but he neither looked at nor spoke to Kurt. He spent quite a long time in his washroom, made a brief visit to the study, then returned to the quiet of his bedchamber. Kurt kept up his sewing in his head, cutting out the pieces for an imaginary dress for someone . . . the blacksmith's daughter back in Pluna. Eloise was her name and her father had commissioned a wedding dress from Master Neric shortly before everything fell apart. Kurt designed and folded and cut and found he could make it almost feel real if he concentrated hard enough. Dinner was brought for him, taken away, then supper came. Sebastian finished whatever work he was doing and left and Kurt barely noticed. And in a final stroke of glorious luck, as darkness fell and Reginald began lighting the lamps, two giggling maids appeared at the servants entrance – the duke’s entertainment for the evening. Reginald ushered them into the bedchamber then emerged and caught Kurt’s eye just long enough to toss his head in the direction of the hidden door. The meaning was clear. _Dismissed_.

No doubt about it, Kurt thought. The gods were real. And today they were smiling on Kurt Hummel.

He didn’t run this time. He didn’t need to hurry and didn’t want to risk panic ruffling the calm waters of his self-control. He passed no one on the stairs. There was no sleeping page boy to surprise and be surprised by him. He filled two buckets with the gushing spring water and carried them carefully back up the steps, down the hall to his room and through the door. He didn’t pause but went straight for the chipped bowl and poured the freezing water right up to the rim. There was no mercy for his cringing balls tonight. He plunged into the water until his cock was submerged to the root, gasping as the intensity of the icy cold stole his breath away. One hand closed around the iron frame of his bed but he forced himself to stay still. It hurt like he couldn’t remember anything hurting before, so much that he shuddered with the force of it, sending water sloshing over the stones of the floor and making him gasp yet again when the spill reached his bare feet. Pain thickened in his belly and splintered down his legs but he kept to his crouch, all the important parts submerged, until the pain gave way and his flesh succumbed to creeping numbness. Then, just to be sure, he dumped the contents of the basin down the drain, refilled it with fresh water from the bucket, and dunked again. When he finally stood up his legs were trembling but he knew one thing for certain. There was no tongue in the realm that would be able to rouse his cock tonight.

With grim satisfaction, Kurt emptied the second bowlful and replaced it on the table, his cock and balls like blocks of ice against his thighs as he moved, then went to stand by his bed facing the door to wait.

He didn’t have to wait long. Sebastian’s knock rang out almost as soon as Kurt was in position. Just one knock tonight, then the doorknob turned. It seemed the steward was a fast learner.

He was dressed exactly as he had been the night before: homespun breeches, a simple shirt, and the dark, dull boots. Kurt didn’t lower his eyes tonight, he watched, wanting to savor the moment that Sebastian realized he’d been thwarted. He felt almost eager as Sebastian swept into the room as if he owned it, and he knew he probably shouldn’t be so openly defiant but he couldn’t help it. He was proud of himself. He’d taken action against being used and he didn’t even care what the consequences might be. It felt good. It felt right. He actually had to hold back a smile as Sebastian closed the door and crossed the room to him, looking him up and down with those dark eyes. He waited, holding his breath, for the reaction.

But if Sebastian was disappointed by what he saw, he didn’t show it. The flickering firelight cast shadows across his chest as he scanned the room, taking in the half-empty buckets, the basin, the dark stains where water had spilled on the floor. And coming to rest finally on Kurt, raking down his body to his soft genitals. Kurt tensed as he reached out a hand, but his fingers were gentle as he cupped Kurt’s cock and balls. At least, Kurt assumed they were gentle. He was too numb to actually feel even the slightest warmth.

Sebastian hummed a little, almost too low for Kurt to hear, close as he was. Then he smiled as if Kurt had done something wonderful.

“That must have hurt like fuck,” he said, casually, like they were friends discussing some crazy accident that had befallen Kurt. “I’m impressed. I don’t think I would have have had the balls to do it.” He laughed a little at his own joke. “But if you were trying to piss me off you’re going to have to do better than that.”

Kurt’s confusion must have shown on his face because Sebastian, still holding his privates, still smiling, said, “Do I strike you as the kind of man who doesn’t enjoy a challenge?” He laughed again, low, provocative, and his hand gave Kurt’s balls a squeeze that hurt on the inside, even though Kurt couldn’t feel a thing from the outside. It was a strange, backward sensation and Kurt had to push away a flicker of doubt that the intensity in Sebastian’s eyes only fed.

Sebastian let go of Kurt’s cock and circled around him, slowly, trailing one hand along Kurt’s body as he moved. “I have to say, you are turning out to be everything I’d hoped you would be. You couldn’t be more perfect if you tried.”

Kurt realized his mouth was hanging open and he knew he should shut it – he was still in control; nothing about tonight had hinged on Sebastian’s reaction, he reminded himself, it was all about his own lack of reaction – but his body refused to obey him. Sebastian came full circle to stand before him again and his smile only widened at Kurt’s discomfiture.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I ruining your plans to thwart me? Was I supposed to be angry, maybe throw things? Is that what you wanted?” He touched Kurt’s chin with one finger and pushed his mouth closed. “It’s not your fault, really. It’s me. I’ve never been very good at meeting the expectations of others. My mother’s sure I’ll never amount to anything because of it.”

The path Sebastian’s hand had traced along Kurt’s body glowed with warmth and his eyes sparkled in the lamplight. He was enjoying this, Kurt realized. It was all just a game to Sebastian. He was so assured of his eventual victory that Kurt’s show of defiance was hardly worth noticing. Kurt pressed his lips together and tightened his resolve. Nothing Sebastian did or thought mattered. He was still in control of himself, just as much as he had been before Sebastian had walked in.

“The question is,” Sebastian continued, dropping his finger from Kurt’s chin but still standing so close that Kurt could feel heat radiating from his skin, “what are we going to do now that you’ve taken all the fun parts out of play? I had so many plans for that cock . . .”

Something that felt uncomfortably like want twinged in Kurt’s belly at that, and at the implications in Sebastian’s eyes when he said it, but Kurt ignored it.

“I suppose I’m just going to have to find something else to play with,” Sebastian sighed. His tongue slid over his full bottom lip as he considered Kurt’s naked form, and Kurt steeled himself for whatever might come next. He held his breath as Sebastian took another turn around him, evaluating him with those eyes that seemed so black and bottomless in the darkness of the room. He stood tall and straight under Sebastian’s gaze, unwavering and determined.

Sebastian finally moved, reaching out one long-fingered hand that fell heavily on Kurt’s shoulder.

His shoulder? Kurt forced his eyes to keep staring straight ahead and not look at the hand that cupped the curve of the joint, then slid down Kurt’s arm to the elbow and back up again, rubbing like . . . like a friend would offer comfort, Kurt thought, or at least like what he imagined a friend offering comfort would feel like, if he’d ever had any friends in Pluna who were willing to touch him like this. Sebastian’s warm palm moved casually; there was nothing titillating about the sensation but the breath began to stutter in and out of Kurt’s throat anyhow. He’d been pulled, poked, probed and stimulated in a million ways in the course of his enslavement, but he was never touched, not like this, not here and not before, at home, where people shied away from him as if he was carrying some disease they were afraid of catching.

Kurt’s throat tightened but he held still and breathed.

The hand fell away and again Sebastian circled Kurt. He stopped behind him this time and rested a hand on each of his shoulders, a firm but gentle grip, pressing in a little, like Master Neric correcting Kurt’s posture, like his father pushing him forward as he hesitated outside the door of the tailor shop for the first time, trembling with fear and excitement.

“What are you doing?” Kurt had to force the words past the thickening lump in his throat and the bitter knowledge that Sebastian had once again unerringly targeted the cracks his resolve.

Sebastian, ignoring him, began to caress Kurt’s back. His hands slipped slowly down to Kurt’s waist and up again, stopping just short of his ass, stroking, over and over. Up and down. The gentleness of it was so sudden and so different from the rest of Kurt’s interactions with Sebastian. The slow rhythm was hypnotic. He had never been touched like this. He had dreamed of being touched like this and as it went on Kurt felt his body start to relax and it almost seemed possible to lean back into the man behind him, let those arms wrap around his waist, be held . . .

“Stop,” Kurt choked. “Just . . . stop.”

Sebastian stopped. He took his hands away completely and although part of Kurt longed to have them back again, he quickly strangled that part into silence. His mask of composure was firmly back in place by the time Sebastian moved around to stand in front of him once more. But Sebastian’s expression was completely new. He stared, dark eyes probing into the depths of Kurt’s as if he was seeing him for the very first time. As if he was trying to understand him, as a person. As if he was really trying to _see_ him. And maybe it was because of that that Kurt heard himself say, boldly, as if he had any choice in the matter, “I don’t want you to touch me like that.”

One eyebrow lifted in the way that was already becoming familiar to Kurt. “You just keep getting more and more interesting. You didn’t say anything about my mouth on your dick yesterday, but this you can’t stand?”

"I know what you're doing."

"Really?"

"You're trying to get inside my head," Kurt said, forcing his voice not to tremble. He had to make it stop because if Sebastian kept touching him like that, like a friend offering consolation and support, he was going to cry and Kurt Hummel didn’t cry. Not anymore.

"I'm just rubbing your back," Sebastian said, all innocence.

“Is that what you came here for?” Kurt demanded. “To rub my back?”

“That is most definitely not what I came here for. But I can’t do what I came here for. Thanks to you,” Sebastian said, and Kurt could have sworn he saw a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

They stared each other down while Kurt grappled for an option or a tactic. Some way to regain the upper hand. Finally he said, “You said you liked a challenge.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Sebastian pulled his eyebrows together as he studied Kurt, an exaggerated expression of exasperation that the smirk he couldn’t quite hold back belied. “All right then. I'll give you a choice. Touching or talking.”

“Talking?” Kurt asked, his voice breathy with disbelief. Had he actually won?

Sebastian grabbed the straight-backed chair by the bed and lifted it this time. He placed it silently directly in front of Kurt. “I can compromie. I’ll ask questions and as long as you answer them, I won’t touch you in any threateningly non-sexual way.”

He was mocking, but Kurt was too relieved to take offense. Questions were just another way for Sebastian to probe for information but at least Kurt would be able to control his responses. He watched Sebastian sit and cross one leg over the other, taking his place like a king taking a throne. A small and dingy throne, but the imperious air more than made up for the lack of proper furniture. It also put the power imbalance firmly back in place – Sebastian relaxing while Kurt stood before him naked – and Kurt toyed with the idea of just plopping himself down on the bed. But in all honesty, he felt stronger on his feet, ready to move if he needed to. And he was pretty sure he’d already pushed Sebastian further than he should have.

"Talk," he said bluntly.

“If that's what you want," Sebastian said, all condescension like he was doing Kurt a favor. "But what to ask?”

Kurt was sure Sebastian knew exactly what he wanted to ask. Drawing out the moment was just another way to demonstrate his control.

"Where did you come from?" Sebastian said at last.

Kurt breathed yet another sigh of relief. He hoped all the questions would be like this – things Gavin could have told Sebastian easily if he’d asked. Things Kurt actually didn’t mind giving away about himself. “A village in the hills north of here,” he answered firmly.

“The village of . . .”

“Pluna.”

“Pluna. It even sounds remote. And what did you do in the village of Pluna?”

This was harder. It went against every instinct Kurt had to reveal anything personal to Sebastian or anyone else. He flirted with the idea of lying, but he’d already won concessions from Sebastian and if he saw through Kurt’s lie who knew what he’d do? Besides, Sebastian was only here for a week then he'd be gone and take his knowledge with him. Kurt considered whether he might pass his information on to Gavin, but he dismissed that out of hand. Gavin wouldn't have hesitated to make use of any knowledge he had, but he really didn't have enough interest in Kurt as anything more than a sex toy to actively seek it. Honesty was safer.

“I was . . . a tailor,” Despite his rationalization something twisted in Kurt's gut at saying it out loud while standing naked and enslaved.

“You're not old enough to be a craftmaster,” Sebastian said.

“I was a journeyman. I’d just finished my apprenticeship when . . . I was taken.”

Sebastian ran his eyes around the little room. “Not quite the journey you expected, I imagine. So how did you end up here?”

“I don’t know.”

The damned eyebrow twisted upward again.

“I don’t!” Kurt insisted. “I went to sleep in my room and woke up in a cell in the dungeon under this castle. I have no idea who did it, or why. I swear.”

That was all only technically true but Kurt was not going to go into the terrible details of the night he was taken. 

“I’m not sure I completely believe that,” Sebastian said.

It was getting unnerving, the way Sebastian seemed to see through him so easily. Kurt couldn’t help squirming a little under the piercing gaze, but he kept silent and eventually Sebastian uncrossed his legs and leaned forward to take a new tack.

“How long has it been since the last time he let you erupt?"

Kurt was still on the last question and it took him a moment to realize that Sebastian meant Gavin. He groaned inwardly before saying again, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t remember your last orgasm?”

“I didn’t say that. You asked how long it’s been. I don’t know. I don’t care.”

Sebastian tilted the chair up onto its back legs and rocked there, watching Kurt, and Kurt prayed that he didn’t want to follow that line of questioning any further because his last orgasm had been with the dog and there was no threat on earth that could make him tell Sebastian about the dog.

“Why don’t you just take care of yourself?" Sebastian sounded genuinely interested in the answer. "You’re alone here at night. Who would know?”

Kurt glared at Sebastian. Did he honestly think Kurt hadn’t considered all the possibilities? That when he lay awake at night with need burning in his gut and throbbing down his length, he wasn't tempted by the release and relief that was so close – right there in his own hand? Did he think Kurt was so stupid that the idea of masturbating just hadn’t occurred to him?

“He’d know,” he said finally.

“How?”

“Oh come on. You look like someone with enough experience with his own hand to know that there’s usually a mess. Unless you’re doing it wrong.”

Kurt's temerity left him breathless, but Sebastian didn’t even rise to the bait. He tipped his head on that long neck in the direction of the washing alcove. “There’s a drain in the floor. Rinse it right down. No evidence.” 

Kurt focused on the legs of the tipped-back chair, willed them to slip and dump Sebastian’s ass onto the floor. Crack that smug skull against the hard stone. “I might not . . . respond the way he expects me to," Kurt managed, hating Sebastian for making him say it. "I might not . . . it’s not worth the risk."

“The risk of what?”

Could Sebastian really be so naive?

“Punishment.” It came out strained and breathy. Kurt met Sebastian’s eyes then, but he wasn’t sure whether it was to assert his confidence or to let Sebastian see just how much he didn’t want to go down this road. He couldn’t say it out loud, couldn’t put it into words. Not the dog. And not the spiked cock cage that Gavin used to punish his dick if it didn’t cooperate when Gavin wanted it hard. Definitely not the way the punishments made him cry and beg no matter how hard he tried to be strong. If he gave voice to that, he would be lost.

Sebastian held his gaze for a long time, then nodded and changed the subject. "And you have no one? No one to come looking for you? To get you out of here?"

Kurt lowered his eyes again to the legs of the chair, fighting for control. "No," he said, as flatly as he could.

"Parents?"

"Dead." He had to force the word out.

"Brothers and sisters?"

He raised his eyes to glare at Sebastian. "I already said no one."

"That master tailor you served?" Sebastian went on, undaunted.

Kurt shook his head. "He was dying when I was taken." He tried so hard to keep emotion out of his voice, but it cracked the tiniest bit on the last word.

For a moment, Sebastian said nothing. He settled the front legs of the chair back on the floor and stood up, came closer, studying Kurt, as he’d done before, like he was a puzzle waiting to be pieced together. Kurt tensed, afraid that the caressing was going to start again, afraid of the part of him that longed for it. But Sebastian only stood, so close, so still, eyes deep and unnaturally dark in the firelight. Kurt wished he could see their color. It might be less frightening if he could see their color.

“What’s your name?” Sebastian murmured.

Kurt stared up at Sebastian and disgust twisted his gut at the thought but there was only one answer he would ever give, standing here, naked, to that question.

“Slut,” he said tonelessly.

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “I mean it. I want to know your name. Your real name.”

“It’s slut,” Kurt insisted, louder this time, more certain.

As much as he hated saying it, Kurt at least finally got the satisfaction of seeing frustration break through Sebastian’s superior confidence. He looked confused, like he couldn’t understand why Kurt would say such a thing.

“This isn’t a trick,” Sebastian said. “I’m not trying to trap you or get you in trouble. I just want to know your name. I'd rather not have to think of you as Gavin's slut."

He was telling the truth, Kurt could see that much. That’s what all the questions were about. Sebastian was trying to humanize him, by giving him a place and a life and a name. He wanted to see the person inside the slut. And instinct told Kurt that this was the thing he had to guard against most of all, the most dangerous attack yet.

"Why not?" Kurt asked, trying to sound just as sincere as Sebastian. "It's what I am, isn't it? It’s the whole point of this stupid game. You want to come in here and look at me and touch me and make me . . . suck your dick. What does that make me if not a slut? _Slut_ is exactly what you want me to be. Have the balls to tell the truth about what you want from me!”

Sebastian's control broke completely, although Kurt's triumph at his success was tinged with alarm when Sebastian grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him close.

“You have no idea what I want from you,” Sebastian said, his face so close to Kurt’s that they were almost touching.

“Then tell me. Just tell me so I can give it to you and this can be over!”

Kurt was panting, he never, never let himself show this much emotion and he knew it had to be a mistake but Sebastian was pushing him in all the wrong ways and it felt so, so good to finally stand his ground and say what he’d been thinking for so long. It made him want to sing with the strength of it, especially when Sebastian abruptly let him go and stepped back out of Kurt's space, the anger draining from his face, replaced by that focused intensity that made Kurt feel like a bug under glass.

“You want to know what I want from you? That’s easy. Submission.” 

Kurt laughed out loud. He didn’t mean to, but the idea was so ridiculous that he couldn’t help it. The sharp sound of it reverberated in the room.

“That’s funny?” Sebastian asked.

“I’m standing here naked. I have to do whatever you say or I'll be punished. That’s not submissive enough for you?”

“That’s not submissive at all.”

Sebastian’s control was coming back faster than Kurt’s. His smirk was firmly back in place, whereas Kurt could only gape in disbelief.

“You comply. You obey. But I’m willing to bet you’ve never submitted. Not to Gavin.” He practically spat the name.

Kurt forced his mouth closed as he watched Sebastian watch him.

“You could, though. I saw you on that dais with that stupid woman and I could tell you hated every second of it but even so, the way you knelt there, with so much –” he paused, searching for the right word, “– dignity.”

The word struck at note in Kurt, a dark minor chord. Sebastian looked right at him and Kurt wanted to hide from what he saw in the dark eyes. Sebastian was calmer, more in control, but the cocky display of confidence was gone. What he was saying _mattered_ to him, for some reason that Kurt couldn’t understand. Kurt had learned very painfully to be afraid of things he couldn’t understand.

“Dignity,” Sebastian said it again and again Kurt felt it frisson through his body, “and strength. And I thought, if he actually _chose_ to submit, he would be irresistible.”

“Why would I ever do that?” Kurt asked, his voice trembling beyond his ability to control it. Sebastian’s eyes held him captive. He wanted to look away but he couldn’t.

“Why wouldn’t you?” Sebastian stepped closer again, tiny smile back in place, challenging Kurt. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it. Giving yourself to someone like that. Being whatever he wants you to be just so you can hear him tell you how perfect you are.” He threw out the _he_ so easily, like he didn’t even need to bother to ask, like Kurt’s entire inner life was transparent to him. “I think you’ve dreamed about it. Giving up control and letting yourself be taken. I think you’ve craved it.”

Kurt couldn’t barely breathe through the fear that was chilling his heart and the heat that was filling his belly. _Fuck you._ He summoned it up like a shield but even that couldn’t protect him from Sebastian’s eyes and words.

Because he had thought about it. Ever since the day, when he was only fourteen, that he’d come across the miller’s apprentice in the forest, cutting dead trees for firewood, shirtless, young, lithe muscles rippling in the dappled sunlight, and he’d hidden and he’d watched and he’d imagined . . .

His hesitation seemed to have told Sebastian more than any words could have. “I think you’ve thought about kneeling for someone, begging to be allowed to touch, letting him take what he wants and longing for more because nothing could ever be enough –”

Kurt had to stop him, he didn’t know how Sebastian managed to reach into his head and pull out his deepest secrets but he had to shut him up or the Render knew what would become of him. For six months he'd constantly fought against it, the creeping accusation in his own head that his slavery was some kind of punishment for his desires. Or some twisted fulfillment of his darkest fantasies. That he deserved it for being what he was. He fell to his knees right there on the stone and pulled frantically at the laces of Sebastian’s breeches. He needed to make it stop and this was the only way he knew how.

Shocked off balance by Kurt's attack, Sebastian stumbled backward and tripped, falling right into the chair behind him. Kurt followed on his knees, still clawing at the strings of his underclothes, tearing them away to reveal the flaccid cock beneath. He fell on it, sucked it down to the root, and Sebastian gasped as it began to fill in Kurt’s mouth, stretching down his throat. Like before, Kurt sucked hard, as hard and deep and fast as he could, dragging Sebastian along for the ride, pushing away the images in his head.

_Leaves and twigs poking his bare knees, the boy’s perfect cock smooth and hot in his mouth . . ._

Sebastian’s hands wrapped around the seat of the chair; Kurt could see the white standing out around his knuckles.

_The boy's broken voice above him, “Gods, yes, Kurt, fuck you’re so perfect. Mine, and so fucking good for me . . .”_

He counted as he sucked, tried anything he could think of to banish the fantasy, so familiar, that had brought him to so many bone-shaking adolescent climaxes.

_Laid out on the forest floor, his cock aching for release, the boy’s hands teasing up his thighs, over his belly, around his nipples . . ._

Above him Sebastian moaned freely, rocking deep into Kurt’s mouth each time he sank down.

_“Just a little bit longer, sweetheart. Just a few more and I’ll let you come, I promise. It’s going to be so good . . .”_

Come flooded his mouth, bitter and dark, as Sebastian surrendered to the heat of his throat and climaxed with a rough, uncontrolled groan. Kurt swallowed automatically and pushed away, leaving the last spurts to dribble over the head of Sebastian’s cock. He stayed on his knees, gasping, trying to sort out the fragments of fantasy and reality that had tangled up in his head. His body burned but his cock was soft and cold. Nothing fit together as it should. Above him Sebastian gasped as well, short, sharp breaths that rasped in his chest. Kurt stared at the floor, silently begging Sebastian to leave him alone with his mortification.

But Sebastian stayed put and his breath began to even out. And Kurt’s, as if partnered to it, followed suit until the room was still again, with no rushing desperation disturbing the shadows in the corners. They fell together into quiet. Neither moved nor spoke until the fire popped, startling them both out of their own heads.

“Stand up.” Sebastian said it gently, more like a suggestion than an order, and Kurt, because he couldn’t think of any reason not to, because he wanted Sebastian to please just leave him alone, obeyed.

“Turn around.”

He obeyed again, moving to face his bed with the rope hanging from the ceiling above it.

He heard Sebastian rise, heard the rustling of clothing being resettled and laced, and the click of boots on stone as Sebastian closed the distance between them until his long form was pressing against Kurt’s naked back and ass. One hand slid around his waist, another around his chest, slowly and carefully, as if Kurt was a wild animal on the edge of panic. They rested strong against his skin, holding Kurt so gently, too gently. It was almost physically painful to stand straight and stiff and not sink back into the offered embrace. He shook with the effort.

Sebastian’s lips brushed his ear as he murmured, “I’ll make a deal with you. Tomorrow night, stay away from the cold water.”

“Why would I do that?” Kurt hated his voice, his body, for shaking so badly.

“Because what I want to do, what I really want to do,” Sebastian was whispering now, close and secret in Kurt’s ear, “is lay you out on that bed and make you feel things you have never felt before.”

Kurt’s head tilted sideways without his permission, pressing his cheek to Sebastian’s temple.

“I want to touch you and taste you and hear you moan and I want to make you come harder than you’ve ever come before. So hard that it won’t even matter what your name is because you won’t be able to remember it anymore.”

Kurt shuddered against Sebastian; the hunger in his belly and the numbness in his cock and the anger in his brain muddling up until he couldn’t remember what he wanted or didn’t want.

“I’m not allowed to come,” he whispered back.

“I think you should let me worry about that. Let me worry about everything. All you have to do is make a choice. Water or no water.”

“And if I . . . choose the water?”

“Then that’s your choice. I’m not here to punish you. You can have it or not. You decide.”

A heat that could only be Sebastian’s tongue flicked at Kurt’s earlobe and traced a dizzying line around the outside of his ear. Then the arms around Kurt loosened and slipped away.

Kurt managed to stop himself from grasping at them as they left him. He managed to stay perfectly still as the boot heels clicked on the stones and the door opened and closed. But once Sebastian was gone he slid his own arms around his belly and chest, capturing, keeping the feeling of the embrace, and hating himself for doing it.


	6. Chapter 6

Kurt didn’t choose the water.

To his credit, he absolutely meant to choose the water. He woke tired from restless dreams in which the miller’s muscle-bound apprentice wearing Sebastian’s smirking lips and dark, colorless eyes kept telling him _don’t look down it’s much scarier if you look down_. But Kurt couldn’t understand because he was quite sure he was already _down_ , laid out on the forest floor with runners from the ailanthus trees binding his arms and legs. But Sebastian kept insisting, while tracing a map of burning trails over Kurt’s skin with his long-fingered hands, attached to the apprentice’s beefy forearms.

He woke to another quiet morning – the new servant having again deposited breakfast without rousing him – panting and hard and swearing that nothing would make him succumb to Sebastian’s temptation. Today would end exactly as yesterday had: with Kurt’s dick cold and soft and Sebastian’s will subverted once again.

He held onto his resolve through the morning in Gavin’s chambers, where the duke’s recovery appeared complete and life resumed its normal routine. Kurt was summoned to the bedchamber to present himself for edging, which Reginald accomplished with even more than his usual enthusiasm while Gavin watched from his bed, nibbling delicate fruits from a crystal dish. Kurt pushed his performance further than normal, just to be safe, but without the whiskey Gavin must have lost his taste for torment and he called a halt at first slick, just as usual. Then he beckoned Kurt up onto the wide, soft bed for a leisurely blow job, still popping choice tidbits into his mouth while Kurt worked his cock.

Kurt hated blowing Gavin in the bed. It made his legs ache to hold himself prostrate enough to get his mouth all the way down Gavin’s cock while carefully keeping his own dick away from the bedclothes. He couldn’t imagine what the punishment would be for leaking on Gavin’s perfectly white sheets. He seemed to have miraculously gotten away with staining Gavin’s armchair; there was no way he was going to risk smearing the bed.

But much as he hated it, at least the morning routine was a distraction. When it was over Kurt took up his usual place in the corner by the fire, his cock still hard and damp at the tip, determined that nothing would shake his resolve. But the hours wore on him, slowly, like water reshaping stone. Hours in which Sebastian’s voice whispered to him – _taste you, touch you, it won’t even matter what your name is, let me worry_ – and Kurt’s body responded with enthusiasm, no matter how firmly he told it that there would be no tasting or touching or any kind of coming. The hours crept past full of images from his adolescent fantasies and from last night’s strange dreams. He felt Sebastian’s arms around him again and Sebastian’s tongue teasing the tip of his ear. The yearning for connection, to touch, to feel himself fully inhabiting his own body for once, making his own choices, crept up and around him, making him feel dizzy with a need that was so much more than physical.

What could it hurt to give in, his traitorous brain argued as the clock ticked ever louder in the corner. Wasn't he entitled, for once, to take? To use Sebastian as Sebastian was using him? To let go, just for an hour, of the endless fight for self-control that filled his every waking moment. To rest. To let someone else have the responsibility. Kurt knelt by the fire and visualized stitches and told himself over and over again that he was absolutely going to choose the water.

By mid-morning he was longing for a distraction, anything, even another humiliating display in the great hall. At least that would fire his anger and remind him why it was so important to resist. But the only distraction the day provided was Sebastian, arriving for more accounting with his now-familiar knock on the outer door and his voice greeting Reginald pitched for the first time loud enough to carry to Kurt’s ears in the sitting room.

And then there was the trembling.

It was barely noticeable at first, a tiny, deep thrumming that accompanied Sebastian’s arrival in the suite. Kurt ignored it. His mind was made up. He was using the water. It didn’t matter how badly he wanted to come, how deeply his body craved rest and relief, how much his brain argued that it was only for a few days, then Sebastian would be gone and no harm done. If he let go, how would he ever be able to pull himself back under control? If he let Sebastian take away his pain and need and loneliness, even for a moment, even if it was only an illusion, how could he ever resign himself to his bleak and terrifying life again? And if he _submitted_ – the thought was quiet as a whisper inside his head – how would he ever bring himself to resist again? No. The water was the only choice he could make.

Yet still he trembled like the first morning he’d walked into Master Neric’s shop; like the afternoon he’d watched the miller’s apprentice chop wood in the forest and completely understood who he was for the very first time.

But Kurt was not going to allow his body’s reaction to weaken his resolve. He ignored the trembling, and the way his heartbeat picked up when Sebastian’s voice again drifted to his ears at the end of the day. He welcomed the press of Gavin’s cock in the back of his throat as the duke face-fucked him that night, and the humiliation of presenting himself yet again to be edged, acting out desire while his body betrayed him. Those things focused his anger and reminded him of how much he was risking if he chose Sebastian’s way. And so when he left Gavin’s rooms for the night he made a beeline for the spring room.

Almost.

After all, he hated walking the halls hard, so it only made sense to detour into an alcove and wait for his cock to wilt back to reasonable state. And if he didn’t exactly rush down the stairs, well, he wasn’t _not_ rushing either. He had to take his time coming back with the water because his hands were still trembling, anticipating (nothing, there was nothing to anticipate) and he didn’t want to risk creating a sloshing mess for some poor servant to have to clean up. There was a very good reason for every delay.

The stab of disappointment he felt when he returned to his room and found no Sebastian waiting to take the choice out of his hands was harder to explain away. 

Kurt let himself in, set the buckets down by the fire, and reached his trembling hands towards its warmth. His cock was already perking up again at the thought of what was coming. Still, Kurt poured water from one of the buckets into the old basin; he even crouched over it, wrapping his hands around the iron bars of his bedstead. But this time his balls didn’t even bother to flinch. They’d known all along what his brain was only starting to admit. He’d never meant to choose the water.

Kurt’s hands tightened on the iron and tears filled his eyes because fuck Sebastian. Just fuck him for knowing, _again_ , what was going on in Kurt’s head. For waiting and forcing Kurt to make his own choice and accept all the risks that came with it. Fuck him for existing in the first place with his hands and his tongue and his whispered temptations. And fuck him because the only emotion Kurt felt more strongly than his anger was shuddering excitement.

He pulled himself up onto his feet, slid the basin out of the way, and turned up the lamp as bright as it would go. He stared for a moment at his bed; his hands shook even harder and his heart fluttered in his throat as he carefully folded the blanket back on itself until it was just a strip of fabric at the bottom of the mattress. Then he turned back to stand facing the door. He clasped his hands behind his back - to hide their trembling, he told himself, but he’d been too long a slave to be unaware of the significance of the position. His cock expressed its approval by thickening, lengthening, and with timing so impeccable that Kurt couldn’t hold back a bitter laugh, the moment it bumped hard against his belly Sebastian’s knock broke the stillness.

The door creaked open and Sebastian slipped quickly into the room, shoving it closed behind him, but when he turned and took his first look at Kurt he froze, back against the door. For the smallest moment – so small that Kurt afterward was sure it must have been some trick of the light – a strange expression came over the pointy, smug features. For only an instant, as he registered Kurt’s careful stance and his proud, upright, decidedly not flaccid cock, Sebastian looked – _young_. So very young and the strangest combination of frightened and determined, like a man at a mark facing his executioner.

But then the fire crackled, drawing Kurt’s attention, and when he looked back the odd expression was gone and leaning against his door was the already familiar, cocky, self-assured Sebastian, smirk firmly in place. Kurt’s knees wobbled a little with relief. This was the Sebastian he needed, if he was going to get through whatever it was he’d chosen to do tonight. Sebastian had promised to be strong for both of them and Kurt was going to hold him to that. He had a feeling it was going to take all of his own strength just to keep breathing. 

Sebastian didn’t speak right away. His eyes swept the room, taking in the buckets and the basin of water abandoned by the fire, the bright lamp, the turned-down bed, before coming back to focus on Kurt himself. “Well, you are endlessly surprising,” he said at long last.

“I thought this was what you wanted,” Kurt said, cursing himself for sounding so breathless.

“Oh it is. I just . . . didn’t think you’d do it.”

“You sounded pretty sure last night.”

Sebastian smiled. “Well I was sure you _wanted_ it. I just didn’t know if you’d be brave enough to admit it.”

Kurt lifted his chin and stared straight into Sebastian’s mysterious dark eyes. “You don’t think it takes courage to live the way I do?”

The smile faded from Sebastian’s lips and he pushed away from the door and stepped slowly toward Kurt, his boot heels clicking. “I think,” he said, coming close and staring right into Kurt in that annoying, arousing way he had, “that it’s fucking exhausting. I think it takes every ounce of strength you have. Pretending all the time to be something you’re not – but still trying not to forget who you really are . . .”

Having Sebastian, and all that he’d promised, so close sent Kurt’s heart tripping hummingbird-fast in his chest. “What would you know about it?” he asked.

“You think you’re the only person who’s ever had to do that?”

“You?” Kurt asked, incredulous.

Sebastian didn’t react at all to his skepticism. The corners of his lips pulled up just enough to hint at a smile, but his eyes were still dark and intense. Kurt felt a twinge of disappointment that even at its brightest the lamp wasn’t enough to illuminate their color. “It’s like you’re hanging from a rope, over a bottomless pit. Your arms are aching and your hands are bleeding and all you want is to let go but you’re so afraid of the fall.” One hand moved then and cupped Kurt’s jaw, warm, and terrifyingly gentle. “But you can let go now. I’ll catch you.”

Desire twisted in Kurt’s gut. “If he ever found out . . .” he whispered.

“He won’t.” So sure. So certain. “I promise he won’t.”

Kurt wanted to ask how Sebastian could make such a promise, and what was going to happen after Sebastian left him, and how he was supposed to make himself numb again after letting in all these sensations. There were a million ways that Sebastian could screw him over and destroy his last shreds of dignity and self-control. Every little thing Sebastian learned about him could be used against him. But letting himself feel, even just a tiny bit, even just the perfection of the path Sebastian’s thumb was tracing to the point of Kurt’s chin and back again, was like unlatching a cage and flying out into the open sky. And maybe the danger itself was part of what made Kurt’s cock dance between them, reaching out for Sebastian’s body. He had imagined a lot back in Pluna, but his fantasies had always been just that. Never once had he believed that there could be an actual man who would desire him and touch him and look at him the way Sebastian was looking at him at that very moment.

“How do I know I can trust you?” he asked, begging Sebastian with his eyes to give him some magic assurance that would make everything okay.

“You don’t. That’s what makes it trust. A leap of faith.”

Pretty words, Kurt thought. Perfectly chosen to give his body the excuse it needed to let go. And really, he had known where this was going to end up since he stepped away from the basin of water so what was the point in holding out any longer?

“And if I leap? What happens then?” he asked, pleased that his voice sounded stronger and more sure.

Sebastian smirked. “What do you want to happen then?”

Anticipation, fear, want, shame – Kurt couldn’t tell the difference between them anymore. He could - he knew he should - stop playing with fire and send Sebastian away. But this was perhaps the only chance he’d ever have to feel the things he’d dreamed of as a boy back in Pluna. He wanted to be touched, and held, and made to feel. And he found, as he stared into Sebastian’s seductive gaze, that he wanted it just a little bit more than he feared it.

He lifted his chin and stared unwaveringly into Sebastian’s eyes. “I want what you said last night. I want all of it.”

Sebastian must have seen the conflict in Kurt’s face – of course he did. Sebastian saw everything. He held Kurt’s eyes and if he’d felt any uncertainty when he’d first entered the room there wasn’t a shadow of it to be seen now. He was all confidence and control, and standing under his gaze Kurt felt fear and shame begin to cede their places in his chest, making room for more exciting emotions. Sebastian saw the exact moment that it happened; his smile widened and he let his hand fall in a long, slow sweep down Kurt’s neck, his chest, his waist, avoiding his jutting cock and coming to rest on one sharp hip bone. That oh-so-annoying eyebrow quirked up knowingly. “Well in that case, tailor from Pluna, you’d better get your ass on that bed.”

Sebastian didn’t move his hand, and it was harder than it should have been to step away from it, resting so close to where Kurt yearned to be touched. But there were so many things he wanted tonight. He stepped backward, still drawing strength from Sebastian’s cocky assurance, until the backs of his knees touched the mattress and he had to turn away to climb on the bed. Settling on his back, giving up the control of his feet on the floor, left him feeling agonizingly vulnerable and so much more exposed than being naked upright. Kurt closed his eyes to try to find some equilibrium. But Sebastian’s low, appreciative “Fuuuuck,” pulled them open again.

“I can see you’re going to make it very hard for me to give you the experience you deserve,” Sebastian said, and for the first time that night he openly stared at Kurt’s cock, which squirmed against his belly under such intense observation.

Kurt realized that he’d unconsciously spread his legs wide on the bed, displaying himself for Sebastian. His first instinct was to close them again but he could see Sebastian’s breath stutter and the tiny crack in his control sent new tendrils of arousal shooting through Kurt’s body. “What do you mean?” he asked, and he wasn’t trying to be enticing but even he had to admit that his voice, breathy and high, was the definition of provocative.

“I mean that I have a feeling you’re going to come as soon as I touch that cock,” Sebastian said, and he didn’t try not to sound enticing at all, “But all I want to do is devour it.”

“I could come more than once,” Kurt said, and his cock thrust hopefully upward, apparently happy to be the center of this particular conversation.

Sebastian raised his eyes back to Kurt’s and even from the bed Kurt could see them twinkling again. “You think that now. But I also have a feeling that, as long as you’ve waited, you’re going to erupt like the fucking Mhyrrik geyser and then be out cold before you even have time to thank me properly.”

Kurt had no idea what the Mhyrrik geyser was but he had a sudden vision of all of this tension and fear resulting in his cock spurting weeks of pent-up release into Sebastian’s sputtering face and it was just so _apt_ that an unfamiliar sensation began to bubble in his belly and suddenly he was giggling. Not the wry, bitter laughter that his insane circumstances occasionally forced from him but real, honest mirth. He didn’t expect it; he almost didn’t recognize it, it had been so long since he’d experienced it. But the sheer absurdity of it all hit Kurt like a blow and he couldn’t stop. It was just too unbelievably funny, all this drama and tension over an orgasm. Just a simple eruption, like the thousands he’d given himself, casually, almost without thinking, between puberty and the day he was taken. Here he was laid out and trembling and frightened and it suddenly all seemed so _silly_ that he had to slap a hand over his mouth just to try to keep it in.

Watching him, Sebastian tried hard to hold on to his superior, in-control smirk but he must have seen the hilarity as well because his smile twitched, then cracked, and they were laughing together, Sebastian grinning then bouncing then bent over with the force of it. It lit up his face in a way Kurt had never seen. It made him beautiful – a thing Kurt somehow managed to appreciate even while hugging his own aching gut with tears streaming from his eyes.

Eventually, the laughter ran its course and Kurt and Sebastian were left wiping their eyes and smiling at each other, each panting a little in the aftermath, and for the first time in longer than he could remember Kurt felt _normal_ , which should have been strange, lying on the bed naked in front of Sebastian, but something had happened to him, something had been released and in its wake he was just a boy, just _Kurt_ , about to be touched for the first time that counted by another boy. A boy with dark eyes and soft, full lips and the most amazing smile when he actually meant it.

“You’re probably right,” Kurt said, still smiling, and if this was letting his walls down, well, he’d do it and accept the consequences because the way Sebastian was looking at him was straight out of his favorite fantasies. “But where does that leave me?” This time the provocative was intentional.

Sebastian’s trademark smirk suddenly seemed much less supercilious. “Well lucky for you I’m extremely creative. And it doesn’t hurt that you have a body that was made to be worshiped.”

And just like that the last traces of humor were gone and Kurt watched with wide eyes and tight breath as Sebastian took the two steps that brought him next to the bed. Every cell in his body seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for that first touch to seal his fate. But when it came it was gentle fingers brushing his wrist, wrapping around and lifting Kurt’s arm, directing it up and over his head to the iron frame at the head of the bed.

“I think you may want something to hold onto,” Sebastian said lightly, but his eyes burned with a deeper fire.

Slowly and deliberately Kurt raised his other arm to meet the first overhead, wrapping both around the same iron spindle.

It set something loose in him, putting his hands there, the look on Sebastian’s face when he did it. If any part of Kurt was still hanging on that rope over the abyss, it let go now and he closed his eyes and let himself fall, and found that the bottom was the soft forest floor and the sensation of imaginary creeping vines binding his wrists and Sebastian’s hand stroking down his arm, over his ribs, along his hipbone. Goosebumps prickled his skin in its path and Kurt shivered, earning him a soft chuckle from Sebastian. When the fingers stroked lower, slipping to the inside of Kurt’s thigh and brushing his balls butterfly-light, Kurt had to bite his lip to keep himself from crying out at the barely-there intensity of it all.

“Oh, no, that I absolutely can’t allow.”

Kurt opened his eyes and stared a question at Sebastian.

“We’re not out there,” Sebastian said, jerking his head in the direction of the door. “This is you and me. No holding back.”

“Someone will hear,” Kurt protested.

“So what? They already assume I’m torturing you in here. Besides,” he finally settled on the bed, dipping the mattress by Kurt’s waist, “If you don’t make any noise how will I know what to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“How will I know if you like _this_ ,” he leaned forward, slowly, holding Kurt’s gaze all the way down until he had to tilt his head away to stroke his soft, hot tongue over the tiny point of Kurt’s nipple. Kurt shuddered again; a tickling heat snaked its way from the sensitive flesh under Sebastian’s mouth all the way down his body to tease at his cock and coil in his balls. Kurt had never played with his own nipples, before, and no one ever bothered with them now except to hurt him so the liquid pleasure of it took him by surprise. But instinct prevailed and his lips remained sealed.

“. . . or if you prefer _this_ ,” Sebastian looked up at Kurt to speak then dropped his head again and without warning sealed his mouth over the nipple and sucked, hard. Unexpected pleasure spiced with just the right amount of pain surged through Kurt’s body from head to toe and instinct was abandoned with one desperate cry. Kurt’s hands tightened around the bed frame and his chest arched up off the mattress but Sebastian just kept sucking, rolling his tongue around the nipple until the building heat left Kurt whimpering freely and jerking his hips in an unconscious plea for attention.

He didn’t even realize Sebastian’s mouth had disappeared until he heard laughter again. “Well that answers that question,” Sebastian said, and this time Kurt, whose body felt like one big oozing pile of _yes,_ couldn’t even bring himself to feel annoyed at the smug tone of voice. “And for the record, nothing’s hotter than a boy who likes a little pain with his pleasure. Don’t think I won’t remember that.”

It sounded so much more like a promise than a threat and Kurt moaned, but that was probably because Sebastian’s thumb had taken his mouth’s place and was now stroking little circles over his sensitized nipple that were wreaking havoc on his nerve endings, and not at all because the idea of Sebastian oh-so-gently hurting him made dark, primal music thrum in Kurt’s belly.

Sebastian watched him, still teasing Kurt’s nipple, waiting as his thrusting hips settled back on the bed, as his breath deepened and his body began to relax, the tension of weeks melting out of his muscles, softening under the slow caress. Kurt’s jaw loosened, his lips parted and his eyes closed, which seemed to be the signal Sebastian was waiting for.

“That’s it,” he murmured, “perfect. Just feel. I’ll do the rest. I think you’ve waited long enough, don’t you?”

“Gods, yes,” Kurt breathed, as Sebastian’s hand slid down his torso and finally, finally brushed the head of his cock, skimmed down the shaft, cupped his balls. The need to push into the relief of sensation was strong but Kurt held himself still; he wanted to do what Sebastian had told him to do. Just feel. He never wanted to stop feeling. His entire world was shrinking down, down to just Sebastian’s warm hand wrapped ever so gently around his swollen balls. He wanted it to move, so badly, he wanted more of everything, but Sebastian simply held him so he gripped the iron bar over his head and fought the urge to thrust. Instead he forced himself to slow his breathing down, counting each inhale and exhale.

“Yes. Beautiful.” Sebastian rewarded Kurt for what felt like superhuman restraint by destroying his careful breath control with one gentle press of his fingers, rolling Kurt’s balls against each other in an excruciating dance of pure sensation. Pleasure ran in rivulets down his legs and up his cock, until staying still became impossible and staying quiet, ludicrous. Sebastian had praised his restraint but didn’t seem to mind the lack of it either; he kept up his sensuous assault until Kurt was moaning with abandon and rutting frantically into nothing. Slick leaked from his cock in tiny pulses and teased over the throbbing head before falling to pool on his belly. With one long, humming release of breath Kurt surrendered completely to Sebastian’s control. He was helplessly turned on and high on sensation and he loved everything about it.

But just when he was sure that he could come just from Sebastian’s careful manipulation of his sac, the warm hand stilled, then moved away altogether, to rest on Kurt’s thigh. Which might as well have been a universe away.

“Don’t get too excited,” Sebastian said, and Kurt was sure he could hear a tremble behind the confident voice. “I’m just getting started.”

Kurt didn’t know whether to be thrilled or distressed by this revelation. His body tried to do both at once, which left him dizzy on top of breathless and desperate with need. Under him the thin mattress bounced and shifted again; Sebastian was climbing onto the bed, moving Kurt’s legs to kneel between them.

“Please tell me you took your boots off,” Kurt panted. He wasn’t so far gone that he’d abandoned all his standards.

“If that’s what you’re worried about right now I need to be working a lot harder,” Sebastian said. The mattress moved again and Kurt felt a wet heat – Sebastian’s tongue – trail along the inside crease of his hip, sliding lower and lower until it touched the tight skin of his scrotum and began to lick in long, perfect stripes. Kurt all but thrashed under the gentle teasing, the sensation so different from the one Sebastian’s hand had created. That had been like being milked from the inside, his balls rubbing against one another until the come was primed and ready to flow. This, though, was a completely different brand of torture, so close to the place he really wanted Sebastian’s tongue, but still just a tease. His hips rocked down, straining to bring his cock closer to that evil, delicious mouth, but then once again the sensation stopped.

“On the floor.”

“Wha . . .” Kurt forced his eyes open and tried to understand what Sebastian had said.

“My boots. They’re on the floor. I didn’t want you to worry.” His lips, red and swollen from the work he’d been doing – and it made Kurt’s head spin to realize it – twisted as he tried to hold back a smile.

“You’re diabolical,” Kurt tried to sound reproving.

“Diabolical! I like it. Bend your legs.”

“What? Why?”

“Just bend them,” Sebastian said, lifting Kurt’s knees until his feet lay flat on the bed. “If I’m going to be called diabolical I might as well live up to it.”

Kurt wanted to wail with frustration. “I take it back. You’re not diabolical. Just please . . .”

“Too late, little tailor.” Sebastian bent to Kurt’s crotch once again.

Any further protest was cut off by the press of Sebastian’s tongue at the very base of Kurt’s scrotum, and then lower, firm now, rocking against him in a way that sent a whole new set of sparks shooting through Kurt’s body. Sebastian licked and sucked at the delicate skin until Kurt was writhing again, tiny whimpering animal noises filling the air around them, and then Sebastian slid lower still . . .

“Oh gods, no . . .” Kurt groaned.

Sebastian’s tongue was gone and Kurt raised his head with a desperate cry because he hadn’t meant _no_ , he’d just meant . . .

“No?” Sebastian asked. His lips were shiny and wet and try as he might Kurt, facing them, couldn’t quite put his brain together.

“It’s just that . . . you shouldn’t . . . I mean, it’s not really . . .” he babbled, torn between the thing that he wanted more than anything and the fact that he’d felt such shame, whenever he’d touched himself _there_ , as a boy.

“Stop.” It was quiet but commanding in a way that immediately drew Kurt’s focus back to dark eyes looking up with such heat from between his legs. “If you really mean no, then I won’t,” Sebastian said. “But if you’re worried about me, well I have it on good authority that you are probably the cleanest person in this entire castle. I’m sure that applies here,” he touched a fingertip ever so lightly right there, on the pucker of Kurt’s hole, and Kurt’s brain went fuzzy again, “as much as anywhere else. So don’t say no because you think it’s dirty or shameful because that’s bullshit.” His eyes burned and for the millionth time Kurt wished he could tell what color they were. “It’s _amazing_. And I really, really want to hear what kind of noises you’ll make when I do it.”

The challenge was back in Sebastian’s face, and the confident command that pinned Kurt down and demanded honesty.

He couldn’t have said whether he made any noises at all.

The moment Sebastian’s tongue touched his asshole every bone in Kurt’s body liquefied, and every thought fled his head. He was sure he no longer existed in corporeal form at all, he had been transformed into pure sensation, his grip on the bed frame the only thing tethering him to the physical realm. There was need, gods yes, his need built beyond the limits of endurance as Sebastian licked and sucked and – _oh Maker_ – pressed the point of his tongue just inside the tight ring of muscles, but as profoundly as Kurt longed to bring all the weeks of aching pain and burning desire to a head, he just as much wanted this to go on forever. To hold this moment for an infinite space, live in it, float in the river of pleasure that Sebastian was creating all around him. It was intimate and singular and, yes, dirty in a way that seemed like perfection and Kurt felt tears fill his eyes because he had never, ever imagined than anything could feel like this. His balls were clenching in rhythmic throbs and his cock streamed slick; his skin felt too tight and at the same time impossibly loose. And then just as the burning began to gather in the crown of his cock, sharp and excruciating and so, so close, Sebastian lifted his head again and Kurt came back to his body just in time to hear his own despairing cry and see those dark eyes catch his own.

Sebastian was breathless, panting gently and looking at Kurt as if he was the most beautiful creature who had ever existed. “Didn’t I tell you it was amazing?” he asked.

“Please . . . gods, please make me come. I can’t . . . I have to, please . . .” Kurt begged unashamedly now and without another word Sebastian lowered his head again and licked pure fire around the crown of Kurt’s cock, flicked with devastating care into the slit, then sucked hard, hard enough to pull Kurt’s surging cock deeper and deeper into the enveloping heat of his perfect mouth and when he felt the muscles of Sebastian’s throat flutter around him it was finally, mercifully, too much. Before he could even shout a warning he was coming, burning brighter than the sun, brighter than a thousand suns, pulsing and pumping and crying out the end of weeks and weeks of torment and frustration. There was nothing else in the world but heat and ecstasy and Sebastian’s throat as he came just exactly like the fucking Mhyrrik geyser - how had that ever seemed funny? - until he couldn’t see or hear or even breathe. He had no idea how long it lasted, centuries, eons passed before slowly, bit by bit from the ends of his fingers and toes moving in toward his core the orgasmic pleasure was replaced by another sensation, one just as necessary and just as rare and unfamiliar. _Relief._ Pure and perfect, like freedom, it banished all the tension and fear of the months past and left him empty. Clean and radiant.

He felt his cock released to flop against his thigh. Already lethargy was overtaking him, he couldn’t have moved if he’d tried, but he forced his eyes open when he felt the motion of Sebastian climbing off the bed.

“You were right,” he said, whispering, because he didn’t have the strength for more.

Sebastian was smiling down at him like he was wonderful. “About?” he asked.

“I’m going to pass out now.”

“What can I say? When I do a job, I do it right,” Sebastian teased. “Pass out. You deserve it.”

Kurt’s eyes drifted closed again, but he heard Sebastian moving and then felt a blanket settle over his body. Fingers touched his wrists where he still clutched at the bed frame, and his hands were guided down alongside his body and tucked under the blanket. The last person to tuck him in, he thought languidly, had been his father.

Then another crucial thought occurred to him. “You didn’t . . . I didn’t get to . . .”

“It’s okay,” Sebastian said. “I can take care of myself tonight.”

A hand, or maybe lips, brushed Kurt’s temple. He tried to turn his head, in case they were lips; in case he might have earned a kiss, but instead he got a whisper in his ear.

“Go to sleep, tailor from Pluna. You need your rest. I have big plans for you tomorrow.”

“Kurt,” Kurt said, without opening his eyes, and his own name felt strange on his tongue after so long.

“What?”

“My name. It’s Kurt. You didn’t make me forget it.”

There was silence, for so long that he managed to push his eyes open again just in case he’d somehow missed Sebastian leaving. Instead he found the full lips and intent eyes still hovering so close to his own.

“Kurt,” Sebastian said, and if it had sounded strange on Kurt’s tongue, it sounded beautiful on Sebastian’s. “Well, I guess that gives me something to shoot for next time, doesn’t it?”

“A challenge.” Kurt tried to smile, but he wasn’t sure he managed it. Everything was so heavy and muffled and he was losing the battle to keep his eyes open.

“Go to sleep, Kurt,” Sebastian said.

It was a command that Kurt was more than willing to obey. He didn’t even hear Sebastian close the door.


	7. Chapter 7

Someone had finally made the new servant aware of the indignity of slut duty.

Kurt was unceremoniously wrenched from the deepest, most restful sleep he’d had in months by an emphatic slam, the force of which rattled the very stones of the wall above his head and shattered the dream he’d been having, leaving him mentally clutching at impressions: warmth, comfort, contentment. His body moved instinctively, kicking his blanket aside before his brain managed to catch up. It was a strict rule that the duke’s slut must never cover his nakedness in front of anyone, even a servant, even unwittingly, in his sleep. He was lower than everyone and so must abase himself before lord and scullery maid alike.

But the room was empty. The slam apparently a parting gesture. Cowardly, it seemed to Kurt. Slam and flee. Like the boys who used to taunt him back in Pluna, throwing insults then running, never giving him a chance to even silently accuse them. But at least his breakfast tray, kettle and pile of rags were all in their customary places and the fire was built up and burning cheerfully against the morning chill. Kurt fell back onto his thin pillow, pulled his blanket into place again, and lay under the sunbeam streaming in through his window while his startled heart slowed to a normal pace and his internal organs found their way back to where they belonged. He tried to grasp at the fading shadows of his dream but it would not be called back, so instead he watched dust motes swirl in the ray of sunlight and soon found himself smiling – actually smiling – at their lazy gyrations.

Smiling was the last thing he should be doing. He should be panicking. There were so many things he’d done, so many rules he’d broken – Gavin’s, and more importantly in the end, his own. So many ways the choices he’d made could turn on him. He needed to be doing damage control, the slut’s voice whispered from a corner of his brain. And it was right, he knew it was, but somehow in the heat and topsy-turvy excitement of the night before, the slut had been banished to the tiny corner of his head where Kurt usually lived and it was Kurt who was present, fully, for the first time in the gods knew how long, in the body that had belonged to so many people but him. The implications of that should terrify him – would terrify him, he was sure, as soon as the spell of last night wore off. But right now, as he lay contemplating the swoops and dips of shiny, weightless particles in the light and feeling the effects of his shock ebb away, the only thing Kurt could bring himself to feel was _wonderful_.

So wonderful, in fact, that he grinned even wider at the tiny dancers over his head and kicked his blanket away again. He reached his arms and legs in opposite directions, luxuriating in a joint-popping stretch. He felt impossibly loose; the iron bands of tension caused by months of physical and emotional stress had disappeared. There was no pain, anywhere, not in his neck or his hands, or his back, and, strangest of all, none between his legs. He had no awareness of his sex organs at all, nothing pulled or ached as he slid his legs apart and back together again. Was this how they’d always felt – before? He could barely remember. He’d forgotten, in the fierce heat and strain of the cycle of arousal and denial, that pain and weight and need weren’t part of his normal physical state.

He needed to think, he knew he did. The slut was screaming at him, words like _capitulation_ and _collusion_ , _shameless_ and _lewd_. But it was easy to ignore, muffled in its corner. Kurt didn’t want to agonize over the whats and whys of what he’d done. He’d been dead too long, blank, nothing but a shell. His real self forced back into the tiny dark corner that was all he’d dared allow himself. Last night – last night Sebastian had thrown doors and windows open and let in light, heat and sensation. Kurt wasn’t ready to go back to his prison. What he wanted was to feel, really feel, his skin prickle in the cool air, to wriggle his toes against the fabric of the mattress ticking and feel the light on his face while he had the chance. The brick wall of reality was going to slam into him eventually no matter what he did. This moment, now, was too precious to let go. After everything he’d been through, he deserved it.

 _Fuck you,_ he told the slut.

Then slowly but deliberately he lifted one hand – it trembled a little at his daring – and laid it flat against his belly.

He never touched himself. When he was forced to – for washing or to numb pain in icy water – it was cursory; fingertips covered in cloth, quickly, never letting himself think about the physical reality of the flesh that had become nothing more than a tool used to control or punish him. He never touched to feel; the thought had revolted him. But this morning revulsion was banished to the corner with the slut. He pressed his fingers into the soft skin of his abdomen, into the hard muscle underneath, and when no alarms claxoned within or without, he slid his hand down, along the outside of his thigh, just as unexpectedly muscled, then, with breath sticking in his throat, around to reach for the balls he wasn’t sure were even there anymore.

The slut redoubled its volume but Kurt didn’t care. His fingers found skin that was soft, weirdly loose and wrinkled. His balls felt too small and limp in his hand. He probed them, clinically, trying to remember if this was how they’d always been, when he was free. Emboldened, he moved his hand upward to cup his penis – not to arouse but just to feel it, soft and satiated and _his_. As he wrapped his fingers around the flaccid length, the abuse that had been heaped on this part of his body seemed as distant as the slut’s muffled voice, like his dream, not quite real. How could he have been kidnapped and beaten and forced? It was absurd. No, what was real was the sunlight, and his own hands, warm despite their trembling. What was real was cool air filling his lungs in cleansing rushes and tiny bits of dust above him, nothing but dirt, really, made beautiful by streaming golden light.

And Sebastian.

That wasn’t true, not really. Kurt had to concede that point to the slut. Sebastian was less real than anything, fleeting as the motes of dust; gone as soon as the earth turned into the sun’s path leaving Kurt alone again. But Kurt wanted him to be real and this morning seemed to be all about wanting. So he held himself as Sebastian had held him and let it all come back: the gentleness of Sebastian’s skilled hands and the dark thrill of the tongue that had coaxed Kurt’s earth-shattering eruption from him. And as his cock began to swell under the memory Kurt didn’t take his hand away, though he knew he should. Sebastian had touched him as if he was a real person. Someone who deserved pleasure and had a right to ask for it. Sebastian had made him, not an object, but a partner in a beautiful, haunting dance. Yes, Sebastian had led, and Kurt followed, but each needed the other to reach perfection.

While one hand held his now full-blown erection, the other wandered, following the paths that Sebastian’s had taken over his body. The last time he had really, _really_ touched himself, he realized, must have been back in Pluna, in his bed in the attic above the tailor shop, and in all the time between then and now his body had belonged to other people. But last night he’d taken it back. Taken, and then given, as if he had a right to dispose of it as he chose. He’d put himself in Sebastian’s hands because he could, and because he’d wanted the things that Sebastian had promised.

Kurt held himself and sighed a deep and expiating breath that left him feeling even more relaxed. He’d given his body to Sebastian and, even more, he’d given his name. That had been, if anything, the greater release. The relief of naming himself, _Kurt,_ and hearing Sebastian say it back to him, had eclipsed even the long-awaited orgasm. For months and months Kurt had only been the slut, keeping his own identity alive in the margins of his existence as a slave. But then Sebastian had whispered _Kurt_ , like an appeal to a dormant god, invoking him, acknowledging and by acknowledgement validating his right to exist. Just one tiny word, spoken aloud, had summoned Kurt back from his self-imposed exile and made him real again. Kurt’s penis gave a happy throb in the warmth of his hand, and though Kurt knew he should let go, he stroked instead, daringly, feeling his flesh respond to his own grip like a flower blossoming under the summer sun. He was used to being hard, and in his nakedness having his erection on display for everyone, including himself, but still the size, the heft of it in his hand surprised him. He loosened his fist and slid it up and down the shaft, pulling back his foreskin to thumb around the glans, and a moan escaped his lips. It felt so _good,_ owning himself, remembering one caress at a time how he liked to touch himself, how to make the sparks of pleasure ignite in his most sensitive places and kindle delicious heat in his core. He let the fire swell just a little, teasing with gentle fingers, relaxing into the mattress and closing his eyes to the dust ballet above him so he could float in the kind of pleasure he could only give himself.

The slut protested, but Sebastian was there, in his mind, whispering against his ear, drowning it out. _So perfect, beautiful, made to be worshiped . . ._ And Kurt was. He was so much more worthy of worship than any of the cretins he’d been forced to serve since he was taken. He was worthy of Sebastian’s worship and his own. They blended in his head – he touched himself with Sebastian’s long-fingered hands, or maybe it was Sebastian touching him in new ways with Kurt’s own hands – either way, it was perfect, he could almost feel the heat of Sebastian’s body curled against his own, guiding him toward release.

The fire grew, slowly, into the vanguard of an orgasm and Kurt knew he couldn’t – even in this new state of empowerment ( _denial,_ the slut hissed) he didn’t dare – so he backed off to fingertips dancing over his tingling skin. It was hard to make himself let go, but when he finally did it wasn’t with Gavin’s disapproval in mind, but with Sebastian’s promise. _I have big plans for you tomorrow._

His cock throbbed a gentle protest at finding itself bereft of touch. But Kurt’s hands weren’t done. He ran his palms up his torso, feeling the hard muscular planes of his own body: his chest, broader than he remembered, the tiny nipples, tight with arousal, that Sebastian had teased, his arms, so much stronger than they’d been when he’d been taken. He flexed against his hands and could feel new ridges of muscle move under his skin. Where had they come from? Maybe the countless buckets of water he’d lugged up three flights of stairs had served a purpose beyond calming his desperate need.

His hands went still higher, up his neck, along his jaw to his cheekbones, feeling for changes. His fingers met unfamiliar shapes and angles and he wished, unexpectedly, forlornly, for a mirror. There were mirrors all over the castle, but he’d always carefully avoided even a glimpse of his naked self. And his room was empty of any decoration. Would he even recognize himself if he had a mirror, he wondered. He might be a completely different person; he had no way of knowing.

He tried to imagine what he must have looked like to Sebastian when he was spread out on the bed last night. Was he just as long and lean and sculpted with wiry muscle as the boys he’d always fantasized about? As Sebastian himself? It was strange to think that the Kurt he saw in his head might not be the same Kurt that Sebastian saw when he looked at him. Where was the soft, invisible boy who’d labored over needle and thread day in and day out in Master Neric’s workshop? His hands moved back down to trace his pectoral muscles, then lower, over his flat abdomen again. Was he desirable? Could it be that the hungry looks he received from men and women alike were inspired by more than – as he’d always assumed – the submissive availability of the slut? He found the possibility equal parts intriguing and disturbing. And a little depressing. It would be perfect Kurt Hummel luck for him to finally grow into his sexuality just when there was no one that he cared to have appreciate it. Except Sebastian. Who was only temporary.

And on that less-than-cheerful thought Kurt opened his eyes. The sun had moved on in its morning journey – without illumination, the golden motes that had been dancing over his head had fallen back into invisibility. Fittingly, he supposed, because that was exactly what he needed to do. He reached for the rope hanging from the ceiling and pulled himself reluctantly up and out of bed.

But invisibility wasn’t as easy for him to find as it was for the dust. Even as he washed, he kept feeling new things. When had his legs gotten so long? And his waist so small? And his ass so firm? He poured the warm water into the bowl and tried to glimpse his reflection in its surface, but the light in the room was too bright and the water only offered him blurred, distorted shadows.

He had just finished his last rinse and was reaching for the toasted bread on his breakfast tray when the bell above the door chimed in summons. It startled him – he had almost forgotten there was anything he needed to do today besides sit in his sunny room and wait for Sebastian – but instinct took over. He wolfed down a few bites of the bread, brushed away the crumbs, and without even thinking about it rushed to the door and pulled it open . . . then slammed it shut again with a cry that was too sudden and unexpected to stifle.

The brick wall slammed into him, punching the air out of his lungs, turning his knees to jelly so that he collapsed hard on the floor, pain biting where his hip bone collided with the stone. He’d known it would come, but he’d expected it to happen in the face of Gavin’s wrath, or the threat of punishment for his disobedience, or the despair when he realized he had no idea what the fuck he was going to do when Sebastian left him. He’d never expected the simple act of opening his door to twist fear in his belly and fill his eyes with tears so that the bright room began to blur and go dark. It was always the thing Kurt never saw coming that blindsided him the most.

He was naked.

The corridor had been full of people, more than usual, although maybe it was only the panic giving that impression, rushing to and fro like ants foraging for the winter and every single one of them was covered in fabric and buttons and ties with shoes on their feet and caps on their heads and skirts that swished to and fro – the rainbow of colors and textures danced in his memory behind his closed eyes – and _he was naked._

And fuck, _fuck,_ his fists clenched against the stones and he shivered with a cold he hadn’t felt before because this was the reason. The reason he didn’t touch his body as if it was part of him, the reason he didn’t let himself feel things or desire things, because how was Kurt Hummel supposed to walk naked through that crowd? Because the flesh that had roused under his own hand _,_ for his own pleasure, was now filling again with panic-fueled blood to appease his captor and how was he supposed to keep track of the difference? Submission, capitulation, they were all the same, it didn’t matter what Sebastian said, give in to one give in to all and now he was naked, cold flesh on hard stone, and his breath scraped welts inside his lungs and the bell chimed again, insistent, above his door but he couldn’t have moved if he’d tried.

And deep in the darkest corner of his head, the slut was laughing.

Kurt pressed his forehead hard against the stone floor. _Preparation,_ he recited silently. _Needle. Thimble. Bite. Break. Forestitch. Backstitch._ He tried to force his breath into time with the chant but it stuck in his throat. With nothing left to separate Kurt Hummel from the slut, the stitches only reminded him more of who he was. They called back with gut-wrenching vividness the boy who’d covered his body in careful layers every morning like a soldier preparing for battle. The boy whose one defense had been stripped from him, literally, now groveling on the floor because everything he’d learned in the months since he was first dragged in front his new owner, cringing to cover his nakedness, had evaporated like water before the fire of Sebastian’s fantasies. _Let go_ , Sebastian had said, _I’ll catch you_ , but Sebastian couldn’t catch him, not now, not when it really counted. There was nothing Sebastian could do to protect him.

Except . . .

Except at the very moment Sebastian’s words echoed in his head, Kurt’s breath found an opening through the aching tightness in his chest, just enough space to slide through and fill his lungs with air. And the air, cold like the stones of the floor, began to pull the edges of the room back into focus.

The bell chimed a third time and, desperate for anything that might get him on his feet, Kurt clung to the image of Sebastian. How his arms had felt wrapped around Kurt’s waist and chest. The intensity of his eyes, every detail he could recreate in his mind’s eye. The things he’d said, his words, the very tone of his voice.

_You couldn’t be more perfect if you tried._

It had been a challenge when Sebastian had said it; it had made Kurt want to rage. But now the sound of that gently mocking voice loosened Kurt’s fists until his hands lay flat against the hard stone. The room gradually took shape around him and his breathing slowed and deepened even more. His muscles began to unlock – first wrists then forearms, shoulders then back. He pushed against the floor until he was kneeling upright. His hands twitched toward his genitals, still needing to cover, but he invoked the voice again – _you couldn’t be more perfect_ – and forced them to rest, still and open on his thighs.

It wasn’t real, of course. Sebastian had no power, not outside this room. He was only a steward – a servant. An ambitious and successful servant, to be sure, but a servant nonetheless. He couldn’t command the Duke of Eastreach. There was nothing he could protect Kurt from. But Kurt’s body didn’t seem to care about any of that. And if the illusion of Sebastian could give him the strength to face that hallway full of people, then he’d cling to even that tiny bit of help with everything he had. He reached for the door handle and pulled himself up to his feet. His knees trembled like a newborn calf’s, but they held him, with a little help from the door. The thought of turning the handle made panic grip his throat again, but he kept Sebastian’s face firmly in his mind’s eye as he forced his breathing to slow, slow, until the crush loosened and movement seemed possible. Then he pulled the door slowly open.

The corridor yawned before him like a chasm, still full of people. Definitely more than usual, rushing, some calling to each other as they passed, others focused intently on their tasks. None of them even spared a glance for his sudden appearance, but the added population made the crossing seem even more vast and impassable. Kurt called on Sebastian again, that mocking grin that had infuriated him but now bore him up. He pressed his back against his door and tried to remember what Sebastian had said he’d seen in Kurt that first day on the dais in the great hall. _Dignity,_ he’d said. _So much dignity. And strength._ Kurt didn’t feel at all dignified standing there naked with a half-hard dick, but if Sebastian had seen it and had believed it then maybe that would be enough. He straightened his back, lifted his chin, and imagined Sebastian behind him, watching, evaluating his performance. He took one step, then another, then turned and joined the stream of humanity flowing down the hallway. Just yesterday Kurt had walked this corridor with barely a thought for his nudity, but now he felt every inch of bare skin, utterly exposed and vulnerable, desperate for cover. His face burned – he was sure he was blushing from head to toe, but still no one spared him more than the most cursory attention, even as they passed close enough for a skirt or a sleeve to brush against him, making him shiver. They were used to the slut walking around naked. They had no idea that his whole world had been changed. For everyone else, today was no different from any other.

So one step at a time Kurt navigated his way up three doors and from one side of the corridor to the other, egged on, buoyed up, by Sebastian in his ear. He didn’t question it; he didn’t think about what he was doing; he kept his eyes on the door he needed, his mind on Sebastian’s challenging gaze, and walked. The air tickled against his bare skin, leaving him feeling even more exposed. His cock was thick but not stiff yet, thank the gods. The weight of it swinging against his thighs was, Kurt assured himself, only apparent to him. No one was pointing or laughing – he’d honestly been a greater object of ridicule back in Pluna fully-clothed than he was here, naked, dodging hurrying servants on his way to receive the duke’s morning eruption. He’d done this every day for half a year. Nothing had changed.

The door appeared before him sooner than he expected. Surprised, he had to put a hand on it to steady himself before he pulled the latch and opened it.

Inside the duke’s apartment was a miniature version of the commotion in the hallway. Fewer people, but spurred to even greater hustle and bustle by their proximity to the duke himself. Kurt dropped gratefully to his knees on his pile of cushions and tried to calm his racing heart. Something was happening and that was good. Gavin busy with big events was Gavin without the time or inclination to abuse his slut. No one noticed Kurt in all the commotion. It was entirely possible no one would even realize he hadn’t been there all along. His hands still wanted to twitch toward his penis, to protect it from prying eyes, but it was easier now to control them. If he could just buy a little time, enough to find his detachment again, to fix the mask of the slut in place and slip back into the shadows behind it. But the slut was hiding now, punishing him, perhaps; he searched but he couldn’t find the core of calm he needed to regain his control. Too much was happening. Too much noise and motion, the door to the bedroom opening and closing, Reginald’s face appearing in the opening, sharp eyes finding Kurt then disappearing again.

“SLUT!”

All the rushing servants froze at the duke’s bellow. Silence slammed down on the room, so profound that Kurt was sure everyone could hear his heart slamming against his rib cage. As one, six pairs of eyes turned in Kurt’s direction. His fists clenched tight against his thighs but he forced himself to keep breathing. He could do this. It was just like any other morning, he told himself as he stood, forcing his legs not to shake. A blow job, maybe some edging, then another boring day sitting alone waiting for Sebastian. Yes, he’d broken the most important rule of his slutdom barely twelve hours ago, and he’d just now been wantonly pleasuring himself in his bed, but there was no way the duke could know about that. That wasn’t anger in the duke’s roar, he wasn’t enraged because Kurt had been late or left a stain on Gavin’s favorite chair or touched himself under golden rays of sunlight or erupted wildly into the mind-numbing bliss of a steward’s mouth with an ecstatic force that felt like the world turning itself inside-out around him. This was nothing, he told himself; just another morning’s duty.

Neither he nor the slut believed that for a second, but it was enough to get him on his feet.

The servants unfroze when Kurt stood, hurrying out of his path because they too understood the implications of the bellow and were anxious to dissociate themselves from anything involving the slut. Kurt moved quickly, but before he reached the door it swung open, fast, as if it had been shoved, and the Duchess of Eastreach herself sailed through it, head held high despite the pinched misery of her face, silken skirts rustling like tree branches in a gale. Startled, Kurt was too busy jumping out of her way to lower his head. As she came through the door and practically collided with him their eyes met, for the first time in all Kurt’s months in the castle. For only the tiniest moment the duchess hesitated, some emotion darkening her expression. Kurt couldn’t quite tell what it was – hatred? pity? – but it was intense enough that it held him still, frozen under her scrutiny for that one second, until she recovered her composure and processed past him and out the door, leaving nothing in her wake but the delicate scent of fresh flowers and Kurt’s desperate wish that he could follow her.

“I don’t care if the brat’s third in line to fucking god-hood!” Gavin shouted, presumably for the benefit of the duchess. “The Duke of Eastreach rides out for no one! And where the _fuck_ have you been?!”

The last was for Kurt, pulling his attention back to the doorway where the duke himself was glowering, half-dressed. He wore an elegant doublet on top and sleeping trousers on the bottom in a display that would have been comical if it wasn’t for his dark eyes glinting dangerously, or the scowl twisting his heavy lips. Kurt knew better than to respond. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to make his voice work anyhow, even if he tried. There was no calm inside him; the slut had fled. Whatever was about to happen, Kurt Hummel was facing it alone. Gavin was blocking the doorway so he fell to his knees where he was, lowering himself prostrate in his best show of abject submission.

“Get your ass in here!”

Kurt lifted his head in time to see the broad, velvet-clad back retreat. He didn’t dare stand, so as humiliating as it was with all the servants watching, he crawled the few feet over the threshold of the bedchamber then pressed his face again to the floor. Gavin loved to see him cringing. He could only hope it would be enough.

Over his head there was rustling.

“Leave it,” the duke growled.

“But Your Grace, they’ll be here . . .” Reginald was practically pleading.

“Render’s balls! Does no one in this fucking house obey me any more?!”

“Not at all, Your Grace, but think . . .”

“Out!” The word was sharp as a sword; Kurt felt it pierce him through the chest. Feet scuffled past his head, as if Gavin was dragging his valet to the door. “And no one comes in until I say.”

The valet wasn’t going to wait to be told a third time. “Of course, Your Grace,” came the obsequious response, then he fled the room to join the other servants in relative safety beyond.

From the floor Kurt heard the door slam. Then, nothing, but the harsh scraping sound of the duke breathing.

Kurt tried not to breathe. He tried not to exist. He longed for his room, his hard mattress, Sebastian’s warm body. He was too close to all of this; he realized too late that he hadn’t set the mask of the slut aside, he’d smashed it in pieces the moment he’d spoken his name, in his room, in this place. He didn’t understand anything that was happening, not the duke’s anger or the duchess’s accusing eyes, and couldn’t protect himself in even the most rudimentary way. He had no anchor anymore. The slightest breeze could blow him away. And Gavin was a hurricane.

“You’re very lucky today slut,” Gavin finally said, in a voice that implied the exact opposite. “In half an hour this place is going to be fucking crawling with fucking royalty which means you,” a hand landed heavy on Kurt’s head, fisting into his hair and pulling him up from the floor to face Gavin’s avid eyes, “will have to wait for your punishment until I have time to devote myself to it.” Crouching low in front of Kurt, the duke drew out the last words in a threatening growl and Kurt’s muscles turned to jelly, leaving the hand in his hair the only thing holding him up and the sharp pain of it the only thing keeping him gasping for breath.

Gavin stood and pulled again at Kurt’s hair, forcing him straighter, dragging an unwilling cry from his throat. “Kneel up properly and serve me, slut.”

The room was spinning around Kurt. His scalp burned where Gavin’s fingers had abused it and his cock ached and throbbed its need to please. But the only thing his brain seemed able to understand was _punishment._ He felt untethered from the floor, the duke, reality. The word echoed in his brain accompanied by the duchess’s glare and he struggled to orient himself and find the right way up but everything was twisted and unrecognizable.

Fortunately for Kurt, instinct was strong and his training so deeply embedded that even in his lost and frightened state he was ready when Gavin shoved down the sleeping trousers and pushed into his mouth. The thick cock met no opposition, sliding deep into Kurt’s open throat, just as Kurt had slid into Sebastian’s the night before. It was wrong in a way it never had been before, because for the first time Kurt knew exactly what Gavin felt, the hot, sucking pleasure that seemed too perfect to be real. He couldn’t forget the sensation, each pump of Gavin’s hips reminded him, and try as he might to force himself back to the here and now, the edges between reality and fantasy began to blur. Gavin thrust deep and pulled back; Sebastian’s tongue danced over his cock head and into his sensitive slit; someone moaned _that’s right bitch, you do as I fucking say_ and someone else murmured _little tailor Kurt_ against his searching flesh. Each slide of the cock in his mouth was his own into the mouth he longed for, hot and heavy, thick in his throat and soft all around him, and when the familiar heat began to build in his belly and balls and the harsh groaning above him rose to a climactic pitch, he couldn’t bring himself to try to hold back, couldn’t even remember why he should. The voice in his head was blending with the one in his ears until he couldn’t tell them apart.

_. . . yes, beautiful . . ._

_. . . telling me what I can’t have . . ._

_. . . I think you’ve waited long enough . . ._

“I’ll show them who you fucking belong to.”

Gavin’s words cut through the haze in Kurt’s head. Rough fingers gripped his jaw, lifting him, pressing nerve to bone until he gasped, and the cock in his mouth withdrew, still hard and throbbing like his own. He stared into the very slit that Sebastian had been teasing – or was it Kurt himself? – not understanding. Not understanding as Gavin’s hand began to work it furiously, not understanding until the very last moment, when Gavin grunted, sharp and high like a wallowing pig. Until the hand on the cock stilled and the one on Kurt’s jaw tightened even further.

He closed his eyes just in time.

The hot splashes on his face brought the real world crashing back into him like the Render’s fist, crushing his looming orgasm. Revulsion twisted his stomach and he fought against the bile rising in his throat. In spurt after spurt Gavin’s issue coated his cheeks, his chin, his lips. It dribbled down his neck, slowing and tickling as it congealed. A gobbet ran down the point of his chin, hung suspended for a long moment, then dropped to land with perfect aim on Kurt’s still jutting cock.

Gavin exhaled a growl. “Look at me, slut.” The fingers pressing into either side of Kurt’s jaw twisted, pulling his head from side to side with renewed pain.

Kurt slitted his eyes open, but thank the gods nothing wet or slimy dripped into them. Gavin stared down, not looking satiated at all. He looked hungry and intense, like a cat hard on the trail of some small doomed animal.

“That stays on all day, understand? It’ll help you remember whose slut you are.”

“Yes master.” A whisper was all Kurt could manage.

“Now get your ass out of here.”

“Yes master.”

The fingers didn’t let go of Kurt’s jaw so he waited, still as he could manage, until finally they released him and busied themselves shoving the duke’s wilting cock back into his sleeping trousers. As soon as there was room Kurt crawled carefully past the duke’s bulk then stood and opened the door.

Reginald had been listening, of course. He recovered quickly, and slipped past Kurt with a sniff, too busy hiding his own indiscretion to react to the mess on Kurt’s face. He was the only one, though. There was a small line of servants waiting to deliver items or messages to the duke and Kurt had to walk past them all to get to the relative safety of his corner. He fled to the far side of the room and fell to his knees on the silken pillows, followed by shocked whispers and incredulous murmurs. He closed his eyes, his only defense against curious stares. The semen on his face was starting to tighten as it dried. His throat ached with backed-up tears and his scalp and jaw throbbed. He was going to have bruises where the duke had held him and he’d probably be punished for that, too. For forcing Gavin to mar his perfect skin. Some of the fear sitting on his chest tried to turn into laughter at that thought. Whatever was in store for him, Kurt had no doubt it was going to be worse than the dog, worse than blowing half the guard in the courtyard in the snow, worse than anything he’d endured so far. He was very thoroughly fucked.

And then the smell hit him.

He’d been too afraid in the duke’s chamber to notice it. But now the stench of the duke’s eruption filled his lungs. Everyone in the room must be able to smell it. The itch of it drying on his skin he could ignore, or pretend away, but the odor was inescapable. Kurt’s stomach heaved even as tears pressed behind his eyelids but he forced them both back. He knew if he gave in to either of them he’d be lost. If he cried he’d vomit and if he vomited he was sure he never be able to keep from running screaming through the halls like a damned soul escaping the Render’s tortures. He didn’t know what the punishment would be for that but he was quite sure he wouldn’t survive it. Not in any recognizable way. Although he was pretty sure survival wasn’t really an option anymore, anyhow.

He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe; his cock throbbed and he couldn’t even pretend it was only from fear. He’d wanted – _wanted_ – there in the duke’s chamber with the duke’s cock in his throat. All these months, all the touching and teasing and he’d never ever let them make him want. Finding himself meant losing himself – he didn’t understand it but he couldn’t deny it. He needed space to work out how to be but there was no space. He needed to be alone but there was no alone. He needed to be free; he needed help but there was no one. No one in this entire gods-forsaken castle, maybe in the entire god-forsaken world, willing to look at him and _see_. A boy who’d only ever wanted to make beautiful things and live his life on his own terms. A man struggling to survive the unspeakable, day after exhausting day. No one but Kurt himself. And his seeing was the exact thing that doomed him.

He’d been on a path, a terrible path but at least he’d known which way to go. When dark and ugly things leapt out at him he’d held to that one road, head down, step after trudging step. Then Sebastian had appeared; not dark and ugly but beautiful and bright. He’d seen, perhaps, but in the seeing he’d pulled Kurt off his path, swept the path away, spun him in circles and left him foundering. He should have resisted more, he knew. He had no one to blame but himself. But really, was it so much to ask? To be looked at with compassion? To be touched gently? To be held by arms that slid around his waist and chest? To be pulled back into embrace, lips tracing the curve of his ear, a voice in worshipful whisper, _you’re so brave and strong, let go, let me . . ._

Kurt didn’t notice when Gavin left the suite, resplendent in his best court clothes, trailed by Reginald and all the waiting servants.

There would be punishment tomorrow, and after, some new existence, some person who wasn’t him anymore. But before that there was Sebastian. Sebastian who found him beautiful in both resistance and submission. Sebastian who’d offered, asked, withheld, given, all in order to crash through Kurt’s walls and make him feel again. Sebastian who was a mystery, a fantasy, with motives Kurt couldn’t make out and lips Kurt longed to taste. Perhaps Sebastian was hastening Kurt’s end, or perhaps Kurt had always been headed to this place. He couldn’t have pretended forever. There was always going to be an end.

He didn’t notice the servant leaving food on the little table, or that the smell of Gavin’s semen eventually began to fade, or the sounds of reveling echoing up from the great hall below.

He let Sebastian hold him. He leaned into arms he’d felt too briefly and would have to give up much too soon. Hands caressed him. Lips pressed hot kisses across the back of his neck. He didn’t think about tomorrow. There was no tomorrow. There was only tonight, and all the fantasies he’d treasured in his life before this. Muscled arms and endless legs and dark challenging eyes whose color eluded his every attempt to discover it. He didn’t have to worry about his defenses because he had none. Tomorrow was coming and nothing he did would change that. Which meant he was free to do whatever he wanted.

Something shifted inside him at the thought. Nothing earth shaking. Just a tiny movement, an alignment. The shattered fragments of his old control stitching themselves back together but in a new way. Not blank, as he’d always tried to be, but full of changing color and light, reflecting and absorbing. If he was going to be destroyed, he could at least stand tall – his back straightened against Sebastian’s imaginary arms as he thought it – like the Kurt Hummel he’d been before his life had been stolen. He could remember who he’d been and what he’d wanted. He could, for one night, see what his life might have been like if he’d been free to seek and choose.

When Reginald came in to light the lamps, he found Kurt kneeling straight as a board, arms wrapped around himself, eyes closed, with a mysterious smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. If the sight surprised him, he gave no indication. “You’re dismissed,” was all he said. Then he turned his back and busied himself with his matches. So he missed seeing Kurt rise from his pillows with a grace and dignity he had no business showing, naked as he was, and covered with spunk. And by the time he turned back around, the slut was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

Kurt didn’t spare a second thought for Reginald as he left the suite. He wasn’t thinking about Gavin, or the mysterious royal visitors, or any servants he might encounter walking the halls with dried semen still crusting his face. He wasn’t even thinking about Sebastian. The person who filled his thoughts down three flights of stairs to the spring room was the miller’s apprentice, back in Pluna. The beautiful boy with his blue eyes and his strong jaw, and the boy Kurt himself had been when he’d fallen in love with him.

He’d never known the boy’s name. He was too afraid of being discovered to ask anyone, not even his father. But they’d spoken on one heart-stopping occasion, when the youth had come to the tailor shop on an errand. They’d shared each other’s company for thirty seconds that had fueled years of Kurt’s fantasies.

_Is Master Neric here?_

_He went to the baker’s. You can wait if you want._

_No, I’ll just leave this. He’s expecting it._

And that was all. Kurt knew he’d only imagined the way the apprentice’s eyes had swept his body and sparked with interest. But that didn’t stop him from replaying the moment over and over in his head, or from volunteering to do the miller’s wife’s simple alteration, just so he could run his hands over the fabric that _he_ had touched.

Looking back now, from all that had happened to him since, it should have seemed ridiculous. A forlorn boy sliding rough broadcloth through his fingers and dreaming of a smile or any hint of notice. Lurking behind trees to catch a glimpse of bare chest or arm, so terrified he’d be discovered. But Kurt longed for the boy he’d been then. And for the man that boy had dreamed he’d become someday. The child was lost but the man . . . maybe, for this one night, with the weight of the slut banished, he could find the man he’d once believed he could be. And for just this one night he might have something like the life he’d once imagined.

What had he fantasized about, back then, with the apprentice’s sky-blue eyes stripping away all his imaginary secrets? He’d never called it submitting, as Sebastian did so casually. He’d imagined control that freed him from having to ask for things that he was sure were shameful. Someone who would _know_ , and offer, and guide. Someone to share the greatest secret of all: that there was nothing shameful about chosen pleasure. Not even when it was between two boys. Not even if it involved bent knees and bound wrists and yearning flesh.

He didn’t meet anyone on the stairs, although his head was already so high in the clouds that he wouldn’t have cared if he did. The castle seemed deserted; the entire household must be attending or serving in the great hall. He didn’t bother with a bucket once he reached the spring room, but bent and dunked his whole head under the icy stream from the spigot. The cold snatched the breath from his lungs but he welcomed it. One hand clutched tight around the pipe and the other scrubbed at his skin, tearing away Gavin’s crusty mess. He let the water fall on the sore spot where Gavin had ripped at his hair, then twisted to suck some into his mouth and spit it out again. He stayed under the stream until the soft edges of the room pulled back into focus. He let it wash away his fear because what did he have to fear anymore? And when he finally emerged and shook his head hard, sending droplets of water flying in every direction, he laughed like he’d done as a child frolicking in the mill pond under his mother’s watchful eye. If there was a too-bright edge of hysteria in that laugh, Kurt chose to ignore it.

He carried just one bucket back, still dripping, through the empty halls and stairways to his little room. Water trickled down his neck and back in rivulets that tickled as they went. Kurt could feel every twist and turn they made; he could feel the bumps and gouges in the stones under his bare feet and the changes in temperature as he moved through the castle. Kneeling in Gavin’s chambers the world had felt muffled but now everything was brighter than before, colors more intense. As he slipped into his room, not even the shadows cast by fire and lamplight could dim his newfound clarity.

The room was clean, the bed made. There was nothing to prepare except himself. Kurt stood in the center of room, closed his eyes, and reached back into the dim places, for things that he’d tried so hard not to remember since he’d been ripped from his old life. Lying on the narrow bed in his garret over the tailor shop, touching himself, how had he imagined waiting for his blue-eyed lover?

Not naked, that was certain. No, he’d always been dressed in something beautiful and blousy, something he could remove one layer at a time, revealing himself under the apprentice’s eager gaze like a gift. Well there wasn’t anything to be done about that. His mystery had been stripped away long ago.

At least he had a chair. Not the velvet armchair he’d dreamed about, but he couldn’t afford to be choosy. He opened his eyes and pulled the straight-backed chair closer to the fire, choosing a spot where the backlight might at least cast concealing shadows over his skin. He sat with a sigh, crossing his legs, angling this way and that searching for anything that felt right. He’d never tried to be alluring before, outside of his own imagination. It was much easier in his head.

Just when he’d found a posture he liked it occurred to him that it was entirely possibly Sebastian wasn’t coming at all. Everyone in the castle was caught up in the royal to-do in the great hall – why shouldn’t Sebastian have been included? As guest or servant, a visiting under-steward from a great estate had to be involved somehow. How could he not have realized it? On this, possibly his last night as _himself_ , Sebastian might never even arrive. Kurt’s heart was just beginning to trip into panic speed when the familiar three knocks broke the silence. He sagged with relief, but managed to pull himself back into position before the door opened.

Sebastian closed the door and leaned his long body against it and even in the inadequate light Kurt could see his eyes go wide. He knew the lamp and firelight would be moving behind him, flickering in bursts of gold across the shadowed ivory of the skin everyone rhapsodized about. He was slightly profile to the door, covering himself with crossed legs, trying to create at least a bit of mystery where he had none. Staring at him, Sebastian smiled. The smile bloomed into a grin and then, disconcertingly for Kurt, broke into a full-fledged laugh; his white teeth glinted in the light.

“What’s the matter?” Kurt demanded

“You look . . . _wild._ ” He was still laughing, shaking his head back and forth against the door.

“What?!”

Sebastian waved a hand at him. “Your hair . . .”

In a flash Kurt remembered the spigot in the well room, shaking his head like a dog, running off without thinking. “No!” His hands flew to his head and his heart sank when they found the spikes and clumps that had triggered Sebastian’s mirth. “Oh gods . . .” He pushed at it, fighting back the tears that sprang to his eyes. Silly, he knew, but he’d just wanted this one moment to be perfect.

Sebastian was on him in a trice, capturing his wrists and pulling them away, lifting Kurt out of the chair. “Don’t.”

Kurt struggled against him. ‘Let me –”

“No. I like it.” Sebastian’s gaze moved slowly from Kurt’s hair to his eyes. “I like it,” he breathed again, and his grip on Kurt’s wrists loosened, slipped lower, until it was almost as if they were holding hands.

They stood so close, their chests almost touching; they both seemed to realize it at the same moment. This was not going at all how Kurt had planned but he didn’t care because Sebastian’s eyes moved again, down to his lips. Sebastian was going to kiss him. It was written all over his face; Kurt’s heart tripped over itself to catch up. He closed his eyes and tilted his head higher, waiting breathlessly for the press of lips and tease of tongue.

“What the fuck?”

Kurt opened his eyes. Sebastian’s expression had darkened; he was staring at Kurt’s face as if it offended him.

“What’s wrong now?” The ups and downs of this evening were making Kurt’s head spin, but not at all in the way he’d wanted them to.

“Come here.”

Disappointment was bitter in Kurt’s mouth even though Sebastian clutched his hand for real to pull him closer to the circle of light cast by the lamp. With a finger under Kurt’s chin, Sebastian lifted his face into the light, turning it from side to side and scowling.

“He hurt you.”

Sebastian’s voice was hard, unexpected, like a fist to Kurt’s solar plexus. For a moment Kurt was too overwhelmed by the change to understand what he was talking about. But then he remembered Gavin’s fingers pressing into his jaw with bruising force.

“No,” he said. He didn’t want Sebastian’s anger and he certainly didn’t want Gavin here, in the space that was supposed to belong only to them.

“I can see the bruises Kurt. That bastard.”

It was still so new, hearing his name spoken. It blew through him like cleansing wind and chased away doubt. He wasn’t going to allow Gavin to be part of this. He took Sebastian’s hand and pulled it away from his face, keeping it tight in his own so they were holding both hands now.

“No, it was . . . he didn’t mean to. I swear. He never marks me. I’m too valuable. He was just hurrying today, everyone was crazy this morning. I’m fine. I promise.” Kurt backed up toward the bed, pulling Sebastian with him, leading him away from the light and things Kurt didn’t want him thinking about. Sebastian allowed himself to be drawn away but his eyebrows still knitted in an angry line.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come, actually,” Kurt said. He did his best to look flirtatious, to bring back the feeling of intimacy between them. “I thought you might be summoned to the hall with everyone else.”

Sebastian’s face softened and one side of his mouth quirked in an almost smile. “I think you and I are the only two people in this whole castle who managed to escape that.”

“Escape? Royal guests, I heard. Who wouldn’t want to catch a glimpse of the king?”

Sebastian smiled all the way at that. “If it were the king I’m sure none of us would escape. But it’s only Princess Lenora.”

“Princess?” Kurt had been joking about the king, but the romantic boy he was trying to channel perked up immediately at this news.

“She’s the king’s sister. Stopping for the night on her way south. But that’s not the exciting part,” Sebastian teased. He had picked up on Kurt’s excitement and played on it. “The exciting part is that she brought her son with her and he’s –”

_I don’t care if he’s third in line to fucking godhood . . ._

“Third in line,” Kurt interrupted. Gavin’s words came back to him, unbidden. Unwanted.

“What?”

“I heard . . . someone say that today. He’s third in line. To the throne.”

Kurt shook his head, trying to empty it of the image of Gavin in his doublet and pajamas. Sebastian must have sense the change in him because his hands tightened and he pulled Kurt closer with a swift tug, flush against his body.

“Second,” he said softly.

“Hmmm?” Kurt murmured. Sebastian’s lips were glistening in the light and thank the gods they were all he could see now. He didn’t want to talk anymore. It was time to stop talking.

“He’s second in line. The Crown Prince died you know. So everybody else gets to move up the ladder.”

Kurt tilted his head down so he could look up at Sebastian, provocatively, he hoped. “I’m even more surprised you’re here. I’m sure the potential future king would be much more interesting than me.” He let go of one of Sebastian’s hands and, daringly, pressed his palm to Sebastian’s chest right over his heart. He could feel it beating, faster than it should be. Excitement rushed through him as for the first time he felt the effect he was having.

“Believe me when I say,” Sebastian breathed fervently, “that there isn’t a crowned head in the world more interesting than you. And no place I’d rather be right now.”

Success made Kurt bold. He had fantasies to fulfill tonight. Sebastian had said he had _plans_ and it was time to put both their plans into action. Slowly, still holding Sebastian’s hand and his gaze, Kurt bent his knees and began to lower himself as gracefully as he could toward the floor, praying he wouldn’t wobble, praying it would be as perfect as he imagined it. His hand over Sebastian’s heart slid down as he went, past ribs and belly, until it rested on Sebastian’s hip, and Kurt was on his knees, breathing hard at his own daring and the rising heat in Sebastian’s eyes.

“What are you doing?” Sebastian’s voice stretched tight around the words, higher than Kurt had heard it before. His free hand pressed over Kurt’s on his hip, holding it still.

“Whatever I want,” Kurt said, putting every ounce of conviction he possessed into the words. “Whatever _you_ want.”

Sebastian’s eyes burned but he shook his head. “I don’t . . . need you to . . .”

Why was Sebastian hesitating, now, _now_ , after all of his swagger and promises, just when Kurt most needed him to be sure? Maybe it was all a game to him and Kurt’s unexpected confidence pulled him off balance. Maybe he was afraid of not being completely in control. Kurt didn’t care what the reason was. He’d had his epiphany. His time was short. He knew what he wanted and by the gods Sebastian was going to give it to him.

“You said you wanted me to submit,” he said, holding Sebastian with his eyes, trying to make him see his resolve.

“I know what I said –”

“This may be just fun to you but it’s my life. It’s my _chance_. You came in here and you touched me and you gave me things – things I’d forgotten I ever wanted. You said I was exhausted and you were right. You said let go of the rope and you’d catch me. I can’t fight anymore. I won’t. I want to feel again, even if it’s just for tonight. I want to live. I want to know what it would have been like. So catch me.”

They stared at each other, Kurt below, Sebastian above, both still as statues except for their chests rising and falling in time, forcing air in and out. For all his talk of falling Kurt knew they were still only hanging over the precipice; Sebastian needed to let go before he could.

“Help me,” he prodded, fierce in his determination. “Tell me what to do.”

When Sebastian finally moved it was quick as lightning, each of his hands tightening around Kurt’s, lifting them to meet over his head in a single wrists-crossed grip. Tight but not bruising; stretched but not painful. The last remnants of weight inside Kurt dissolved under the commanding hold, as Sebastian’s will finally rose to meet his own. This was what he wanted – the only thing he wanted now and for as long as they had left.

“Hold the rope.”

Kurt was confused, but Sebastian’s eyes lifted deliberately over Kurt’s head, over the bed, to where the long rough length hung down from the ceiling. It was just like his silent command on their very first night, but this time Kurt’s insides twisted in anticipation rather than fear. When Sebastian released his wrists he stood, holding Sebastian’s gaze, full of confidence, and Sebastian reflected it back at him now. They were in this together. He backed up until his legs pressed against the iron bed frame. Sebastian followed him step for step, keeping them close, keeping the tension tight and crackling between their bodies. Kurt didn’t look away until he was kneeling on the bed and had to find the rope. He took it in one hand and wrapped it around and around his palm, binding and anchoring himself before reaching the other to grasp tight above it.

Kneeling on the low bed Kurt was just a few inches higher than Sebastian, close enough that lips could touch without stretching. Close enough that eyes could meet in equal challenge. But when Kurt had his position just right, something changed in Sebastian’s face, so quickly, a passing flash of the boy Kurt had seen the night before. A flicker of uncertainly, a whisper of fear.

“You’re so beautiful,” Sebastian breathed, more to himself than to Kurt, who could barely make out the words close as he was. “I didn’t expect you to be this beautiful.”

Part of Kurt warmed to the words; his cock swelled and lifted to attention. But this still wasn’t the Sebastian he wanted. He needed Sebastian’s strength and mocking tongue and imperious eyebrow. “It’s just like the first time,” he said, pulling at the rope to illustrate the point.

“Except completely different,” Sebastian said.

“You hope.”

That brought back the grin, and more, Sebastian lifted one hand and stroked at Kurt’s side, from hip to shoulder and down again, like a wave, rocking something inside Kurt, setting things loose to float free.

“Is there anything you want to tell me before I . . . begin? Any last requests?”

Kurt almost laughed. Last requests . . . as if it would ever be possible to choose just one from the overabundance of his needs. To feel. To be numb. To forget, to remember. To lead and be led. To serve, to come, to fly. To sleep and to dream. To be free. To laugh and cry; to scream out all the pain of the last six months until he was empty.

To get lost. To be found.

To love.

“My name,” he said.

Sebastian moved closer, looking up, his face full of promise.

“ _Kurt_.” He drew it out like a caress; the sound of it slipped in between the very cells of Kurt’s body, and he trembled. Sebastian’s head tilted and his mouth came close and for the second time that night Kurt was sure he was going to be kissed. Instead, one warm palm rose to cup his cheek then slide up, over his ear, fingers tangling in the spikes of his hair. They pulled, gently, where Kurt was sore from before, but it was perfect and Kurt let his head fall back in Sebastian’s hand with a sigh, stretching his neck to the flickering light. Warm lips pressed to the point of his Adam’s apple.

“ _Kurt._ ” Breathed against his skin, it made him shiver. Then Sebastian’s lips skimmed down the front of his neck, owning every inch of exposed flesh as they made their way lower to whisper in the hollow of his throat.

“ _Kurt_.”

Thank the gods he’d anchored himself on the rope because Kurt’s knees were already liquefying; everything was falling away so fast that he felt too light and too heavy at the same time. Sebastian’s mouth traveled across his chest, tongue slipping out to taste, raising gooseflesh, just as it had the night before. It reached one nipple, pulled taut with arousal and the stretch of Kurt’s arms over his head, and anointed it, _“Kurt_ ,” then licked over the flesh, fluttery soft, until Kurt was whimpering for more.

Sebastian’s hand loosened in his hair, moved down the back of his neck, down the long curve of his spine, brushing the crack of his ass. His mouth moved with it, over Kurt’s heaving belly, around his navel, to place an eiderdown kiss on the very tip of his cock and whisper against the delicate flesh, “ _Kurt_.”

“Yes,” Kurt breathed. “Gods, yes.”

Sebastian’s fingers kneaded at Kurt’s ass and his tongue moved up again, faster this time, zig-zagging as he swung his head from side to side over ribs and chest and up Kurt’s neck, over the point of his chin. Kurt raised his head to meet him but once again Sebastian stopped short of his lips. His disappointment faded, though, when he saw the way Sebastian looked at him, with a mixture of awe and longing that felt like every dream Kurt had ever had.

“See?” Sebastian’s voice was naked with want; it drew Kurt forward against the rope, trying to press himself closer. “Didn’t I say you’d be irresistible?” He raised his hands to wrap them around Kurt’s, one bound and one free, and slid down, caressing down to his armpits. Kurt’s body convulsed against the tickle, but his hands stayed where they were as if he had no choice.

“What are you going to do me?” Kurt asked. It was invitation and challenge.

“Anything I want.” Sebastian’s cocky eyebrow tilted upward. He moved again. One hand found a nipple, the other drifted down to Kurt’s eager cock. Both thumbs circled, around and around, stroking, building up the fire inside until heat filled Kurt’s body, lifting him lighter than air.

“I like what you want,” he murmured.

Sebastian chuckled, a low, growly sound. The fingers on Kurt’s nipple stilled, then pinched in, gently at first, then harder, biting his flesh. Kurt gasped and closed his eyes. He held his breath as pain trickled through the pleasure still circling his cock and blended with it into an entirely new sensation. When the fingers twisted he thrust against that teasing hand and moaned, a tight sound that opened into a sigh when the punishing fingers released and stroked again.

“Still like it?”

His nipple was a thousand times more sensitive now and the stroking made him dizzy, but Kurt forced his eyes open so that Sebastian would know he meant it.

“Yes.”

Sebastian hummed his approval. The sound vibrated through Kurt’s body, soothing the pain even more than the gentle touch had. Then his cock was left bereft as Sebastian gripped both nipples and twisted, sharper, rougher than before. Kurt’s head fell back with a cry; his ass clenched and pushed his cock forward until it brushed the front of Sebastian’s breeches. He could feel Sebastian’s hard length against his own, just the thin fabric between them, and he rutted shamelessly against it while Sebastian pinched tighter and twisted harder. Pain flooded his upper body, pleasure the lower, and his brain was caught in between, craving both, longing to give Sebastian whatever he chose to take and take anything he gave. The torment built, harder and hotter, and with each shattering crystal wave of pain Kurt ground harder against the horrible cloth that kept Sebastian’s cock away from his own, until Sebastian’s fingers released him and moved again.

“Oh no. None of that,” Sebastian said with a reproving click of his tongue. He gripped Kurt’s hips and pushed him back, taking away the friction, taking away his body. Kurt cried out at the loss just as loudly as he had at the torture.

His nipples burned and throbbed time with his pulse. His cock was leaking already; he could feel tickling dribbles of slick making their way out and down. He opened his eyes again to find Sebastian’s trying to look stern. But they sparkled excitement at the same time.

“Did I give you permission to hump me, Kurt?”

That word, the desperate abandon it implied, made Kurt’s cock dance. “No,” he panted. He tried to look contrite but he suspected his mouth was trying to smile.

The suspicion deepened when Sebastian smiled back. “Well I can’t just let that kind of disobedience go, can I? There are consequences when you don’t do as you’re told.”

Kurt’s stomach twisted anticipation and need. He was so close to where he wanted to be. He could see the free-fall he longed for shining in Sebastian’s eyes. Just a little further, he was sure, and he would forget everything that wasn’t this room, this man, himself.

Sebastian planted a hand on Kurt’s chest, between his aching nipples, resting there like a threat. Instinct told Kurt to flinch away but he forced himself to stay still, eyes on Sebastian, offering up his vulnerability. He quivered under Sebastian’s fingers as they traced patterns on his chest, over his sternum, around his nipples but never quite touching, until Kurt was whimpering again and begging with his eyes.

“So desperate for me to do something,” Sebastian crooned, so close, still smiling. “You belong to me now Kurt. I decide what you feel.”

“Yes,” Kurt whispered.

“So perfect like this. So willing. I know what you want but I’m not going to let you have it. Do you know why?”

Kurt knew, but he shook his head because he wanted to be told.

“You have to earn your pleasure, Kurt. Good boys get rewarded. Disobedient ones . . .”

Sebastian held Kurt’s gaze and let his hand drift lower, down Kurt’s chest, over his hard cock in one brief brush before it cupped his balls. Their faces were so close and Kurt wanted to keep his eyes open; he wanted to see what his need was doing to Sebastian, but as Sebastian’s grip began to tighten and a soft ache began to build between Kurt’s legs, he had to close them so he could remember how to breathe.

“That’s it. Just take it.” Sebastian’s voice was so gentle, so at odds with the pain growing thick in Kurt’s belly and the surging need in his cock. His head fell forward and landed on Sebastian’s shoulder and he turned his face blindly toward the warmth, instinctively searching until his lips met flesh. The vise around his balls kept tightening, inexorably, unbearably but Kurt bore it. The pain grew into shapes he’d never experienced before. It touched him with burning, reverent fingertips, like a gift. It chose him, the avatar of Sebastian’s pleasure and he would bear anything for Sebastian. He wanted to wrap his arms around Sebastian and hold him close but he was bound, dependent on Sebastian for even the small comfort of touch.

“It hurts. Gods . . .” he moaned against the tender skin of Sebastian’s neck.

“Good.” Sebastian’s lips brushed Kurt’s ear as he spoke. “Breathe.”

His other hand wrapped around Kurt’s cock, stroking hard, fast, throwing Kurt off balance with the sudden swoop of pleasure. He clung to Sebastian the only way he could, sucking hard against his neck, desperate to keep him close. He was all sensation, high, low, the warm scent of Sebastian’s skin and the gasping echo of moans too numerous to be coming only from him.

This was what Kurt wanted, what he needed. The room was falling away; the world was fading into the background and the only things he could feel were hot pain, thrilling pleasure, and a man, strong, strong enough even for him, with hands that knew exactly where Kurt needed them and words that crept inside him, turning keys in all his locks. A man who wanted as Kurt wanted and by wanting made it right.

Then bit by bit the hand twisting Kurt’s balls loosened and he had to abandon Sebastian’s neck to cry out loud, only understanding the true depth of the pain now that it was receding. Its ebb left his legs trembling violently; he hung against the rope wrapped around his hand until Sebastian embraced him, supporting his weight with one hand while the other continued to stroke blissful fire up and down Kurt’s shaft.

“Oh, fuck, the things I could do to you,” Sebastian said, his voice sounding as shaky as Kurt’s legs. “How am I ever supposed to . . .?”

“What?” Kurt panted when Sebastian didn’t finish.

“Stop. How am I ever supposed to stop . . . when you keep making noises like that?”

“Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”

A sound that might have been a laugh rumbled Sebastian’s chest. “If I don’t stop,” he said with a twist of his wrist over the head of Kurt’s cock that made stars fall behind his eyelids, “you’ll come. And you don’t get to come tonight.”

Somewhere deep inside Kurt someone was crying out that there was only tonight, tonight or never, but it was drowned out by the delicious shivers that Sebastian’s words sent rippling through his body. If he belonged to Sebastian, he belonged to him. Complete surrender was the only thing that would get him where he needed to be. He forced his eyes open and met Sebastian’s, rapt on his face. The firelight licked bright orange and dark shadows across his sharp features, making him look more rakish than ever, almost evil, but in the most perfect way. Kurt pushed his bottom lip out in a pout, and although he was sure his panting spoiled the effect, Sebastian laughed out loud this time.

“If you’re very, very good,” he intoned, swiping his thumb over Kurt’s cock with each _very_ and making Kurt moan in rhythm, “maybe I’ll let you come tomorrow. But tonight you’re paying for your disobedience. So tonight I’m going to tease you until you can’t stand it anymore, then I’ll make you stand it after all. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

Kurt whined, and it was only partly because of the game. Sebastian’s thumb was doing wicked things to his self-control.

“But since you took the pain so well, I’ll give you one reward.” Sebastian grinned, which only enhanced the evil effect. “You can choose how I torture you. Hands or mouth, Kurt?”

With those lips shining in the firelight so close, Kurt didn’t even have to think about his answer. “I want your mouth.”

“Pushy! Don’t you think you’d better rephrase that?”

The teasing swipes were making Kurt dizzy; he wanted so badly just to close his eyes again and let himself feel. But he lowered his head and bit at his lip in mock contrition. “Please,” he said. “Please can I have your mouth?”

Sebastian leaned close and oh gods Kurt wanted his mouth, right now, pressed to his own, tongues finally learning each other’s flavor, but yet again Sebastian turned away to whisper instead in Kurt’s ear.

“I was hoping you’d say that. Know why?”

Somehow Kurt found the strength to shake his head.

“Because you taste incredible.”

To illustrate his point Sebastian dragged his tongue in a hot arc around the shell of Kurt’s ear and that, combined with the words, sent excitement rushing through Kurt’s balls so clenching fast that he might have come if Sebastian hadn’t at that very moment taken his hand away.

Kurt whined but held still because he was going to be good; he wanted to be perfect for Sebastian. And he was only bereft for a moment. Sebastian was already dragging the chair closer, just like the first night. Yet so, so different.

“Don’t worry little tailor. I’m going to make you feel everything.” He smiled up at Kurt, triumphant in his conquest, and slid his hands up Kurt’s thighs and around to cup his ass cheeks, pulling him forward, just slightly off balance against the rope. Then he opened his mouth.

He really did have a beautiful bottom lip, Kurt mused.

It was his last lucid thought of the night. That lip, and the tongue peeking out behind it, moving closer to the exact place he yearned for it to touch. After that there was only sensation, straining, longing, the slow-motion drop into the bottomless pit of ecstasy: bottomless because for him there was no landing, no peak or satisfaction, just endless building. When Sebastian’s tongue licked around the head of his cock and probed at the slit, Kurt’s head fell back between his upraised arms and he moaned, loose and low, uninhibited, unafraid. The careful licks were sharp as glass, glinting shards of an eruption that had been broken into pieces and couldn’t quite bring itself back together again. It seemed impossible that one tiny spot on his body could generate so much flooding sensation. Sebastian flicked across that spot over and over, teasing, dipping deeper then retreating, while above him Kurt sobbed a litany of _yes, gods, thank you, yes_.

Hands stroked down his thighs and up again, reaching between his legs from behind to tap a delicate rhythm against his balls, while lips sealed around the head of his cock and sucked, hard, harder, too hard and Kurt cried out loud then moaned again when the mouth plunged down, pulling him balls-deep into enveloping heat and yielding flesh that vibrated against his shaft, painfully soft. Rhythmic swallows caressed him, coaxing his balls to tighten then drifting back, pulling away, leaving them aching with futile clenches.

Pleasure then pain then pleasure again; Sebastian rocked him between the two, back and forth like a pendulum swinging in ever narrower arcs, changes coming faster and faster. There was no holding on even if Kurt had wanted to. He was nothing anymore, but the expression of Sebastian’s desire. Up and down ceased to have any meaning, or pleasure and pain, or real and imaginary. Hands, lips, tongue, those were the only things that existed anymore. Over and over Sebastian brought him to the edge, let him look over it into the roiling magma of eruption then pulled him away unfulfilled. And each trip was headier, each left him less and less corporeal. Kurt kept silent until he had to beg, held still until it hurt too much not to thrust. And slowly, slowly, he faded away. In the heart of the raging inferno Sebastian built all around him he found the peace he’d known would be there all along. Where there was nothing at all but torturous, impossible pleasure, conquering all his most secret places. And freedom from thought or choice. And then arms wrapped around his throbbing body and a voice whispering in his ear.

“Gods you’re amazing. How can you be real?”

“Please . . .” Kurt heard his own voice, faint, from a long way away.

“I love the way you beg. But I’m still not letting you come.”

“No . . . I need . . . please . . .”

“Tell me what you need. Then I’ll decide if you can have it.”

Kurt’s head was full of Sebastian’s scent but it wasn’t enough. He burned, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that there were only two things that could quench the fire that tormented him. The first Sebastian wouldn’t let him have. But the second . . .

“You. Let me . . . please . . .”

He tried to reach out, expecting to be stopped by his bondage, and was shocked when his hand came away from the rope it had clung to. He opened his eyes and there was Sebastian, just as he’d been before, so close, soft flames of light flickering across his face. Kurt’s hand found the back of his neck, tried to pull him close but Sebastian wouldn’t be led into the kiss Kurt craved. He tilted his head away and reached for the hand Kurt hung from, still tangled in the rope he’d wrapped around his palm.

“You have been very good,” Sebastian said as he carefully freed Kurt’s hand and helped him lower himself until his ass rested on his heels. “Maybe you deserve it.”

Every nerve in Kurt’s body was on alert, alive, despite the drifting fog that filled his head and softened thought. He didn’t need thought. He knew without thinking that his hands belonged on his thighs and not his burning cock, and he knew that if he lowered his head in that particularly submissive pose Sebastian would . . .

“Hmmmmm.” Half sigh, half growl, the sound traveled from Sebastian’s chest to and through Kurt’s. It united them, in this dancing no-longer-a-game they were playing.

“Please,” Kurt breathed, soft as feathers, light as air, deep as desire. “Please can I serve you?”

A short, sharp inhale of breath. Then, “How can I say no, when you ask so nicely?”

It was all the permission Kurt needed. He slipped from the bed, eyes locked on his prize – Sebastian’s cock, outlined stiff against his breeches. Kurt’s own erection stood out hard and red in front of him as he moved but there was no awkwardness now. It was a gift, presenting itself to Sebastian as his due. Kurt existed exactly as Sebastian wished him to; everything about him was perfect. He moved forward as Sebastian drifted back and down onto the chair.

He fell to his knees on the hard stone between Sebastian’s spread legs and pulled at the laces of his breeches, delicately and slowly, not teasing but provoking, making it beautiful for Sebastian. He was rewarded with a hand on his cheek that burned like a brand, then slid into his hair to guide his head down as the prize sprang free.

Though he’d done this twice before Kurt was tasting Sebastian for the very first time, breathing his dark scent, licking and sucking until his senses were overwhelmed. There was no rush this time, not like before. Kurt wanted to memorize every cell, one by one, the tang of slick prickling against his tongue, and the indescribable fulfillment of the heavy cock pressing deep into his throat. It stroked his flesh, in and out, each long slide driving Kurt deeper into the welcoming void. They floated together, in the dark, Sebastian’s hand in Kurt’s hair, Kurt’s tongue dancing on Sebastian’s cock, searching for another sharp taste of slick. Above Kurt Sebastian moaned, just as abandoned as Kurt had been when their roles had been reversed. And through it all, as Kurt brought him to almost-peak after almost-peak, he never forgot to say Kurt’s name, chanting it like prayer, crooning endearments that Kurt had only dreamed he’d ever hear from another man.

If Kurt had had his way he would have dragged it out forever, never letting Sebastian come, because he knew that eruption would mean the end. The night would be over, the magic gone, just as it was in all the bedtime tales, with the coming of dawn. But in the end Sebastian took control, which was right and perfect in its own way. He held Kurt’s head still, fingers tight against Kurt’s already sore scalp, and thrust up, fast, until he came with a cry. Kurt fought him then, and pulled back just enough so that the eruption filled his mouth, not his throat, the hot, bitter, sour flavor spilling over his tongue. He held it in, lips tight against Sebastian’s withdrawing flesh, memorizing the taste as his head fell onto Sebastian’s thighs.

For a very long moment the only sound in the room was their panting; Sebastian open-mouthed gasping and Kurt pulling air in harsh sniffs through his nose. His face was pressed against Sebastian’s softening cock and Sebastian’s hand, so gentle now, stroked over the place where his scalp ached. When Sebastian spoke it was hoarse, as if his was the throat that had been fucked so thoroughly. “I take back what I said before,” he gasped. “Your technique is flawless.”

More silence, then fingers fluttered over Kurt’s cheek.

“Kurt?”

He raised his head and tried to focus on Sebastian’s face. The room was too dim to see though, so he lowered it again and nuzzled at Sebastian’s groin. But the fingers kept tapping.

“Swallow Kurt.”

He didn’t want to, but obedience was the only thing he had left to offer Sebastian.

“Good. That’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

“Thank you.” It was beautiful where Kurt was, his burning arousal banked deep in his core now, held back by his obedience, the smell of Sebastian filling his nostrils, the taste still lingering in his mouth, and longed-for words of affirmation ringing in his ears. He was never moving from this spot; he wrapped an arm around Sebastian’s narrow waist and held himself in place, murmuring his own prayer against softening flesh. “Thank you master.”

There was a new noise above him, and the hand in his hair went tight. Kurt gasped at the sudden pain and raised his head. Even in the dark he could now make out the face above him, brows drawn together in an expression that sent fear sliding cold into his belly. Had he done something wrong? He tried to think, but his brain was in too many pieces for thought, it hurt to even try. And thank the gods when their eyes connected Sebastian’s features rearranged themselves back to soft affection and his lips curled into a smile.

“Shhh. It’s okay. Everything’s okay Kurt.”

He let his head fall down again because it was too much effort to hold it up. Sebastian’s fingers caressed and he hummed reassurance that vibrated through Kurt’s body. Fear slipped away and the fog closed again, as Sebastian stroked his hair, down his back and up again, over the sensitive skin of his neck. He barely felt Sebastian pull him up and guide him over to the bed. Hardly registered being settled on his mattress, warm blanket pulled over his naked body. But he felt Sebastian settle on the bed behind him, arm wrapped around his waist, holding him. He felt Sebastian’s lips move over the back of his neck in lazy patterns that burned deep into his skin. He felt them pause behind his ear; felt Sebastian’s arm move away from his torso to touch at the spot, but this time he couldn’t bring himself to feel alarm, even when Sebastian muttered a surprised, “What the . . .?”

The warm body slipped away but when Kurt whined a protest Sebastian’s voice was there at his ear, reassuring.

“It’s okay, I’ll be right back.”

And he was, in less than the time it took to count to three, back under the covers but no arm holding Kurt this time. This time there was something rough and wet and not warm enough pressing to the spot behind his ear, wiping quickly then gone, and the arm came back. Kurt clutched at it; he wasn’t letting Sebastian go again.

“What was it?” he asked.

“Nothing.” Sebastian’s voice was still quiet, still gentle, but heavy with something Kurt didn’t have the awareness to identify. “It’s gone now. You’re clean again.”

Kurt wanted to tell Sebastian that he was the one who’d made him clean, not with water and cloth but with his arms and hands and lips. But his cock was throbbing even as it softened and each heavy beat of his heart made a spiral around him, pulling him down toward his last peaceful oblivion.

“He’s never going to hurt you again. I promise.”

“You can’t promise that.” Kurt pulled himself up from the dark, because it was important that Sebastian know. “No one can. But it’s okay. I don’t care what he does to me. This is all that matters now.”

He pushed back tighter in Sebastian’s embrace, turned his head so that he could feel Sebastian’s cheek against his own.

“Kurt . . .” It was a whispered cry of pain, a plea for help, the desperate call of a man suddenly falling when he’d expected to step onto solid ground.

Kurt wouldn’t remember it in the morning. The details of the night would drift off with the mist as he slept, leaving only impressions:  sensation, straining, longing. He would remember the taste of Sebastian’s release, bitter and thrilling, the hard floor under his knees, the perfection of mindlessly rocking his cock into nothing. He would remember arms and warmth and words that made no sense but struck a bittersweet chord in his heart and pulled his throat tight. He would be sorry he couldn’t remember, but if that was the price he paid for his release from the bondage of the world, so be it. To fly free in a welcoming void with no castle, no Gavin, no dogs or punishment or leering servants; it seemed worth letting go of the details.

Kurt wouldn’t remember. But Sebastian would never forget.

 


	9. Chapter 9

No sounds woke Kurt the next morning. No slams or bangs or insistent bells. There was no morning sunbeam with a company of tiny dancers over his head; he opened his eyes to a window full of slate-colored clouds, portending snow. Or rain, if it was late enough in the spring. He honestly couldn’t remember. In the beginning he’d tried to keep track of the days and weeks, but he gave it up almost at once. It had hurt too much to imagine life going on as usual all around him: feast days, anniversaries and birthdays. He didn’t want to know when the folk in Pluna were harvesting or plowing or planting. He’d only been outside once since he’d come to the castle, and on that occasion he’d been too busy trying to blow every available member of the guard before he froze to death to notice anything but cold. His punishment for gagging when the duke shoved his cock down Kurt’s throat.

Without the sun he had no idea what time it might be, but that didn’t matter. The bell would have woken him if it had rung. Whatever creative, humiliating punishment Gavin had in store for him this time would find him, one way or the other. Kurt didn’t want to think about that until he had no choice. He wanted to think about last night. But last night was elusive as smoke and evaded his grasp. Last night was impressions filtered through drifting mist. Sensations. And above all . . .

Kurt gasped and rolled over, but there was no one there. He was alone in the narrow bed. Sometime in the night Sebastian must have gone. And truly gone, because Kurt doubted they would have a chance to see each other again. Or if they did, he would be a different Kurt, broken, lost. Without his defenses Kurt was sure of at least one thing: he wasn’t going to come out of today’s trial the same. Delicately, he touched his fingertips to the mattress and ran them down along the space where Sebastian’s body had lain. Not even a hint of his warmth remained. Tears wanted to spill from his eyes but he forced them back. Far away, faintly, thunder rumbled. So maybe it was spring after all.

A fire crackled cheerfully in the hearth. His kettle of water sat nearby and the breakfast tray was on the table, all just as usual. The new servant had crept away quietly today. Maybe he thought he was playing a power game, keeping Kurt guessing. Well he was wasting his effort. Nothing mattered to Kurt now. He rolled back to face the window, pulling his blanket tight around his body. He tried to conjure up the feeling he’d fallen asleep to: warm Sebastian curled around him, holding him. He used to imagine that every night back in Pluna – falling asleep in the arms of a lover. It was something that he’d suspected would never actually happen to him. Something that, after he was taken, he’d _known_ would never happen to him. But Sebastian, with his mysterious insight into all of Kurt’s deepest desires, had made it real. And now Kurt had one more memory to draw on to give him strength to face whatever this day would bring. He only wished he’d gotten to say thank you. And goodbye.

But this was better, he told the gravid clouds outside his window. It was better that Sebastian didn’t know. If he’d known what Kurt was facing he might have held back, just when Kurt had longed to be claimed completely. He might have had mercy, not pushed as far, let Kurt come. Instead, he’d taken possession and now Kurt belonged to Sebastian, if only in his own head. The very ache in his unrelieved balls was a testament to Sebastian’s claim on him. And Kurt could face Gavin with all of Sebastian’s strength around him.

Thunder rolled again, still far away, a distant omen. Kurt reached for his rope to lift himself out of bed.

He ate his breakfast slowly, savoring the tang of the cheese melted on thick, soft bread, the bright burst of juice from the plum, and the crystal freshness of cold spring water. He didn’t wash. He couldn’t bear the thought of rinsing away the memory of Sebastian’s teasing fingers and worshiping tongue. If he was going to some kind of horrible end it would be with Sebastian’s marks on him. Invisible as they would be to others, at least he would know they were there. He stacked his breakfast dishes on the tray, straightened the blanket on his bed, and sat down in his straight-backed chair to work on the imaginary wedding dress he'd started for Eloise the blacksmith’s daughter. He had miles of beading to complete. The monotony of it was just what he needed to keep calm as he waited for the storm to break overhead and for the bell’s inevitable summons.

But neither storm nor summons came. He sat and sewed imaginary bead after imaginary bead onto the silk bodice as the sky grew heavier and thunder crept closer like a wild animal stalking prey. He might have been sitting there for hours – he lost track of time without the sun to measure the passing of the day – when he was startled by the door swinging open with no warning. A stone-faced page entered, one Kurt had never seen before. He ignored Kurt completely. He carried a tray, which he set on the small table. Then he picked up the breakfast dishes and was back out the door before Kurt could manage to decide whether he should try speaking to him.

At least he knew he hadn’t been forgotten. And that it was lunchtime.

But still he was left alone. As the hours stretched on Kurt’s nerves stretched with them, tighter than drawn bowstrings. In all his days at the duke’s castle he’d never not been summoned before. He hadn’t always been used, but the bell rang regardless. Even the few times Gavin had been away Kurt had spent the long, empty days on his knees in the corner by the fire. Experience had taught him that changes in routine were dangerous and now the weight of the silence was as heavy on him as the thunderheads muscling each other aside in the sky.

Sometime after he’d finished his lunch of cold meat and bread, commotion from outside his window drew him to push the pane open and peer out. Cold wind buffeted his face. The duke’s pennons, flying from all the highest points of the roof, whipped in dervish dances around their posts. The courtyard below him, where the washing was usually hung out to dry, was empty in the face of the coming storm. But the tiny corner of the front court that he could see from his window was bustling with people, carriages, and horses. Princess Lenora, he supposed, and her so-important son, leaving to continue whatever journey they were on. Clearly not the early risers the Montroses had been. Kurt had room for only a tiny sigh of relief. Whatever Gavin had planned, at least it wasn’t going to be played out for royal enjoyment. He breathed deep, filling his lungs with cold, damp air. He watched as servants carried load after load of luggage onto the carriages, until all the bustle was done and the coaches paraded one by one out of his field of vision. It wasn’t until he closed the window that he realized how chilled he’d become. He was almost numb; he could barely feel the blanket he knelt on. Shivering, he got up and pulled the wooden chair closer to the fire. He bundled himself in his blanket and sat to wait.

He hadn’t seen Gavin in his slice of courtyard, but he was sure he’d been there, waving off their royal guests. That must be the reason for this morning’s silence. Now that the guests were gone Gavin could turn his attention to his slut. In his head Kurt plotted the duke’s progress back to his rooms, taking time to give orders to servants as he made his way through the labyrinthine halls and staircases to his private suite. When he was sure Gavin must have found his way back, Kurt stared at the bell over his door and waited.

And still it didn’t ring.

He paced for a while, wrapped in his blanket, until he was too warm again and had to cast it off. What was happening? The world was getting darker and darker, waiting breathlessly for the storm to break, and Kurt waited in equal agony of anticipation, his heart cycling from racing fear to calm resignation, over and over until he couldn’t find enough equilibrium to think or to even try to understand why he was still here, in his slowly darkening room, instead of being tortured somewhere for Gavin’s pleasure.

The one possible explanation was the one he hardly dared let himself consider. Sebastian. Could it be . . . was it even remotely possible that Sebastian was even now arguing with Gavin, advocating for Kurt in some way, or even just tying him up with imaginary bookkeeping problems so he’d have no chance to give his attention to Kurt? Just the possibility made Kurt so dizzy he had to sit down again. Of course, that was supposing that Sebastian even knew about Gavin’s plans for Kurt, which he didn’t, and Kurt was on his feet again, pacing. No. It was much more likely that this was all part of his punishment, the interminable waiting designed to break down his resistance before the real show began. Except, except subtlety had never been Gavin’s strong point. He went for the stupendous display; he loved the screaming and sobbing. He would have lost patience with waiting even before Kurt did. No matter where he looked, Kurt couldn’t make sense of it.

At some point he found himself on the floor in a panic, with no memory of having fallen. He ate more meat. He chanted stitches, seamed satin, and retraced the paths of Sebastian’s hands over his body. He stared out the window and pressed his ear to the door. And when the first strike of lightning split the sky and illuminated the room in momentary brilliance, he decided he couldn’t stand it anymore. For good or ill, he had to know what was going on.

A thunderclap covered the sound of him opening his door. The hallway wasn’t as deserted as it had been the night before, but it wasn’t exactly bustling as usual either. A few people moved this way and that, minding their business and ignoring him. There were no impediments as Kurt hurried across and up three doors to his secret entrance. He listened there as well, as he’d done at his own door, but no sound came through to his ear. Carefully, silently, he pulled the latch and pushed it open until he could peer into the room.

It was darker than it should have been. No lamps had been lit against the stormy gloom. It was also empty. There was no sign of Gavin or Reginald or any of the other servants. Kurt wasn’t sure if he was grateful or disappointed. He sighed, and turned to make his way back to his room.

But before he could close the secret door he heard just a snippet of voices, muffled by the walls. He froze, every nerve poised to run, but no one appeared at any of the doors. He pulled the panel closed behind him and pressed his back into it. With the noises from the hallway cut off it became clear: the voices were coming from the study.

Gavin was there, of course, even muted and indistinct he recognized the duke’s tones immediately. And there was another, not-Gavin, just like the very first day. Kurt couldn’t tell if it was Sebastian but it had to be. Who else would be in there with the duke?

He could find out, of course. The thought crept like a thief into Kurt’s brain. He could tiptoe across the room, close enough to identify the other person, close enough to hear what was being said. It was a terrible, awful idea and his fingers groped at the wall behind him for something to hold onto. Anything to keep him where he was, where he could fall on the cushions and claim simple obedience if anyone appeared.

But no one appeared, and the lure of the voices was too strong. Kurt’s resistance had been worn down by the hours of waiting for some horrible unknown fate. He took a deep breath and held it in his lungs until the pressure forced him to release it. He was already in trouble; a little more wasn’t going to make a bit of difference. And he’d waited in terrifying ignorance for too long. He had to _know_. He forced one reluctant foot forward, shifted his weight to it, then moved the other. And so he crossed the room, one painstaking step after another. The only sound besides the distant voices was his own breathing, harsh and too loud in the silence as he forced it past the blockage of his frantic, fearful heart. The carpet was rough under his feet as he inched past chairs and tables. Two steps. Then two more. So close. Another. He felt dizzy with anticipation and his own daring. As he moved the voices became fractionally louder, clearer, until . . .

“ . . . question me?!”

Finally the words took shape, Gavin’s words, Kurt was at the opening into the hallway, close enough now to see the ornate oak door to the study, just close enough to make out the words being spoken within.

And at that very moment the heavens opened and the portended rain began to fall, hard all at once, deafening as it smashed into the roof tiles only one story above Kurt’s head. It startled Kurt’s overstrung nerves and for a moment he cowered in the doorway, but when he realized what was happening one hand closed into a fist and hit the wall, once, hard. Then he closed his eyes and sagged against it, defeated. The rain drowned out everything but its own percussion. The men in the study could have been shouting; Kurt wasn’t going to hear another word now. He’d finally made an attempt to take his fate into his own hands and he’d been thwarted by fate itself.

Because the rain was so loud, because Kurt couldn’t see or hear, it was a complete shock when he opened his eyes to find that the study door had swung open and standing square in the light that spilled from its lamps into the hallway, was Reginald, staring at him, just as surprise, it seemed as Kurt was himself.

Neither breathed. Neither moved. The whole world except the rain froze for one interminable moment.

“And make sure they’re suitable. Nothing shabby.”

The spell broke, and both pairs of eyes turned to the door. It was Sebastian who had spoken; with the door open his voice was clear even over the rainfall. Reginald, in the doorway, could surely see him, but Kurt, from his angle, could only glimpse a corner of the room and the corner he could see was, mercifully, empty.

“As you say,” Reginald answered, grudgingly, Kurt thought. Then he turned back to face Kurt, pinned in the entry.

As soon as he sounded the alarm, Kurt would run. He pushed himself back from the wall in preparation. It was his only choice. He couldn’t get away. He would be caught, of course, and his punishment would only be that much more terrible for the attempt. But he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t try.

Slowly, Reginald closed the study door, cutting off the light and plunging himself into the shadows.

For the longest moment neither of them moved, and Kurt’s brain spun in ferocious circles trying to understand what was happening. Lightning flashed, illuminating the valet’s rabbity features and making the whole scene seem even more unreal and overblown. Then darkness fell again and they both stood, two shadows on opposite ends of the corridor, as an avalanche of thunder rolled across the sky over their heads. When the sound of it finally faded, Reginald moved. He didn’t open the study door again, or call out any warning. He walked with his usual measured steps up the hall toward Kurt, then past him, pausing only long enough to hiss “You’re not needed here today. Go back to your room,” before continuing on into the sitting room.

Behind him, Kurt heard a door close emphatically. Reginald had left the suite.

More confused than ever, Kurt retreated as carefully as he’d advanced. His ears still strained for any stray word coming from the study. But the storm was against him. He’d heard all he was going to hear. He made his way back to his room, accompanied by the symphony of the rain beating harsh on the pitches and angles of the castle roof, washing away the last of winter.

The full effect of his encounter with Reginald and his inexplicable escape didn’t hit him until he’d gained the relative safety of his room. He began to shake; his knees turned to jelly and he fell onto his bed, wrapping his blanket around himself again and staring out the window at the rain-blurred courtyard. The distorted shapes below him perfectly matched the ones inside his head.

What in all the Render’s void was going on? He couldn’t begin to figure it out. That Reginald hadn’t given him away – it was impossible to understand. Kurt should at this very moment be groveling before the duke, begging for mercy. Why was he here, trembling in his blanket, panting breathy mist against the window pane, instead of crying out under the duke's hand? And why was Sebastian telling Reginald what to do, as if he had every right to give orders to fellow servants? _Make sure they’re suitable_ and _nothing shabby_. What in the world could that mean?

Kurt flopped down on the bed with a groan. It was no use to even wonder. He didn’t have enough information. His whole life, his future, his very identity was hanging in the balance and he had not the slightest idea what was actually happening. He only knew that whatever it was, it wouldn’t, couldn’t be good for him.

_There’s one way to find out . . ._

The thought crept in, quietly threading its way through the confusion in Kurt’s head. He didn’t like the thought. He didn’t want to think it. But there it was.

He could ask Sebastian.

After all, if Kurt wasn’t going to be tortured and broken today, there was no reason to think Sebastian wouldn’t come tonight as usual. And why not simply put the question? Sebastian obviously knew something. What harm could come from asking him?

Kurt groaned again, rolled over and hugged his thin pillow. Lightning flashed brilliant light, followed by thunder so close it seemed to be inside the room with him. It buffeted him down deeper into the mattress.

Ask Sebastian. It seemed so simple. But Sebastian was supposed to be a fantasy. Kurt had willingly, joyfully, knelt for Sebastian, suffered for him, begged . . . Sebastian had been meant to fill an emptiness in Kurt, a need he’d never before dared put into words. Something for this room alone. It was why he’d never allowed himself to think about the possibility of Sebastian helping him. Because Sebastian wasn’t supposed to exist, not for Kurt anyhow, beyond these walls.

Ask Sebastian. But would Sebastian answer? And if he did, would the answer be something Kurt wanted to hear? And if it wasn’t – this was the real issue, Kurt realized – if it wasn’t, would whatever time they had left together be ruined because Kurt would have to accept things about Sebastian that might destroy the illusion he’d created for himself?

Kurt rolled onto his back again and blew his frustration out at the ceiling. He couldn’t deny the risk, but he also couldn’t ignore the possibility that Sebastian might be true to him. What if the regard he’d show for Kurt was real? Was there a chance that he could do something, make some real effort, on Kurt’s behalf?

Kurt lost all sense of time as he lay under the incessant pounding rain, his thoughts circling around and around. The room became, gradually, even darker, but was it really night, or just storm dark? The rain fell and fell, its relentless patter broken only by lightning and crashing thunder. Kurt moved when he had to, to add wood to the fire or to sit up and stare out the window at the downpour, as if the rain could answer his unanswerable questions.

Master Neric had loved these kinds of storms. When the sky darkened so they had to light the lamps in the workroom and the thunder rolled above Kurt’s head, bowed over his stitches, the master would tell him tales of battling gods in the sky, in a dramatic voice that sent thrills through Kurt’s twelve-year-old heart. It was the Render, consumed by jealousy for the Maker’s creations, who sent the conflagrate lightning and terrifying thunder, the driving rain, trying to wreak havoc on Creation and destroy his brother’s children. But the Maker had given men and animals the intelligence to protect themselves from stormy wrath. Fire and shelter for the humans, burrows and caves for the animals. Wise creatures stayed hidden until the Render had spent his anger; then the Mother of All would coax human and animal alike back out, with sunshine and birdsong and her rainbow across the sky. And because nothing in the universe was ever all good or all evil, Master Neric said, the Render’s storms were as cleansing as they were destructive.

The master had believed in the gods and their power in men’s lives. Kurt had always disdained such belief but now, cowering under the weight of both a literal and a metaphorical storm, he longed for it. It would be a kind of relief to be able to pray, and believe that his prayers would be heard. But belief is one thing that can never be forced and Kurt, despite his rich inner fantasy life, had always kept his eyes open to reality, no matter how harsh it might be. He’d long ago dismissed the gods as no more real than the princes and monsters in his mother’s bedtime stories. The gods had no help to give him.

The more important question was whether he believed in Sebastian. That one was much harder to answer. Trying to understand anything that had happened since Sebastian first knocked on his door was like looking into a warped and cloudy mirror. Some things stood out in sharp relief: moments of fear and comfort, the splash of icy water, the pressing surge of arousal. But others faded into the background or twisted out of their natural shapes into grotesque parodies. It was hard to tell what was real and what was illusion born of desire or desperation. It was so tempting to see Sebastian as some kind of savior, but in truth it was much more likely that he was the Render, tearing destruction through Kurt’s life. Or perhaps, like the Mother of All, he was simply a witness awaiting the inevitable outcome.

Kurt lay on the bed and watched the rain fall and tried to make a plan or decide on a course of action, but his capacity for choice seemed to have ended with his ill-fated expedition across Gavin’s sitting room. After months of capitulation, that one act of defiance had expended all his energy and left him empty. He floated in uncertainty, bouncing from one course of action to another, until the bedroom door opened and he reflexively threw off his blanket to show himself properly naked.

It was two servants this time, come to settle the room for the evening. Dinnertime, then.

The first page ignored Kurt completely but the second, younger boy, struggling under a heavy load of firewood, was a different story. As he waited for the first to put down his tray and take the wood, his eyes darted to and fro around the room. He looked like he was locked in a battle with his own body, trying not to stare at Kurt’s nakedness. Some moments his eyes would win, flickering to where Kurt lay on the bed, but then he would manage to drag them away again. The older boy ignored all of this and prepared the room just as if Kurt wasn’t there. He added logs to the fire, left more on the hearth, lit the lamp and turned it up to full brightness, then with a punch to the shoulder of the younger, who had finally succeeded in forcing his gaze to the floor, collected the empty lunch tray and led the way back out the door.

Kurt ate a leg of fowl, and more bread. He drank water. He pulled his blanket back around himself and continued to drag his mind from option to option, as if he might by magic hit upon the right course of action. But enlightenment was not forthcoming. The beat of the rain kept creeping inside his head, driving out all thought. When the knock rang out, loud even against the noise of the storm, he didn’t move. For the first time since they’d started whatever this was, he had no idea how he wanted to greet Sebastian.

Another anomaly in this day that had been filled with them: Sebastian didn’t let himself in. After a moment Kurt pushed off his blanket and stood, but the door didn’t open. Instead, the knock was repeated in three more strong raps, followed, after a moment, by a voice.

“I’m not coming in unless you ask me to.”

Kurt wasn’t sure how many more surprises he could take today. But he called out, “Come in.” It was strange to say it, as if privacy was something he was entitled to.

The door opened and there was Sebastian, shadowed by the light from the torches in the hallway and looking . . . decidedly un-Sebastian. Messy. His linen shirt hung loose, untucked and not fastened at the neck. And when he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, the absence of clicking boot heels drew Kurt’s attention to his feet – bare feet – lacking both shoes and stockings.

“What in the world are you . . .?” Kurt began, but his voice failed him when Sebastian stepped into the circle of light cast by the lamp. “Oh my gods,” he whispered. “Did I do that?”

The bruise on Sebastian’s neck was bright enough that even a dark and stormy night couldn’t hide it. All of Kurt’s questions and half-formed resolutions flew out of his head in the face of it. He was instantly transported back to the night before, up on the bed, hands almost bound, mouthing at Sebastian’s neck, sucking hard as Sebastian held him so tenderly and tortured him so mercilessly.

“Impressive, isn’t it? It was a true challenge to try to keep it covered up all day.”

Sebastian was grinning but Kurt could barely breathe as he crept closer, staring at the mark – his mark – standing out red and purple and blue against Sebastian’s skin. He wanted to touch it, to see if Sebastian would wince or shudder when he pressed into it. He reached out, fingers trembling.

“Wait.”

Kurt drew back, fast, as if he’d been burned.

“It’s okay,” Sebastian said. “You can touch it. I want you to. But there’s something else I want to do first.”

Lightning flashed; thunder sounded. Sebastian grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it up and over his head, tossing it onto the chair Kurt had left by the fire. The sudden exposure of so much naked Sebastian torso did nothing to help Kurt’s efforts to breathe. He knew Sebastian had a beautiful body. He’d seen the way clothes clung to it and had felt its wiry strength against his own body. But it was another thing altogether to see it: the broad expanse of chest and shoulders tapering down to narrow waist, the flat stomach and defined pectorals. The way its abrupt rise and fall gave away his excitement. Kurt wanted to stop time and freeze this moment just so he could properly take it all in. But Sebastian was already tugging at his trouser laces.

“What are you doing?” Kurt asked.

Sebastian’s fingers paused. He stared at Kurt, his breathing quickening even more. Kurt could see it in the movement of his bare chest.

“I’ve been thinking,” Sebastian said, choosing words carefully, “about last night. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

“Last night?” Kurt asked. He couldn’t understand why Sebastian looked so conflicted, even as he played with the laces that would drop his trousers and leave him naked. “I thought last night was –”

“Last night was perfect. It was a fantasy come true.” Sebastian stared into Kurt’s eyes, intent, looking for something. Kurt wished he had any idea what it was. “But . . . the things you said . . .”

“What? What did I say?”

“You don’t remember?”

Kurt’s stomach clenched. The last thing he needed was one more unknown to deal with. “I wasn’t exactly paying attention to the details. I thought that was the point.”

“It was, of course it was, you did everything right,” Sebastian rushed to reassure him, but tension bunched his shoulders. “I just mean, fuck!” His brow furrowed and he ran a hand through this hair, pulling it even more awry, struggling for words. “When I started this that’s what I thought I wanted –”

“What you _thought_ you wanted?”

“Kurt, please. Just let me . . . I did want it . . . I mean, this isn’t exactly easy for me. I’ve been trying to figure it out all day so can I have a little time to say it right?”

Kurt frowned through another flash and roll from the storm that perfectly echoed the anxiety rolling in his belly, but when the thunder subsided, he nodded.

“Thank you.” Sebastian turned and walked to toward the fire, stared into it for a moment, then stalked to the opposite wall, doing his best to pace in the small room. His movement sent light flickering over the muscled lines of his torso in a way that made it very hard for Kurt to concentrate on his words.

“When I said I wanted submission from you,” he said eventually, still pacing, not looking at Kurt, “it was true. Everything I told you about that was true. When I . . . asked for you, I really did think I could spend a few days fulfilling fantasies I’ve never . . . I wanted to know if I could draw you into them, you, you were this fierce, beautiful challenge and I wanted to find out if I could coax you open, find some inner need in you and fulfill it. Just to have the chance. Just once. And I was absolutely certain that when it was over I’d just walk away, grateful for the opportunity.” The pacing stopped abruptly and Sebastian turned to Kurt and grabbed his hand in a hot, tight grip. The room wasn’t warm, but Kurt could see sweat glistening across his collarbones. His eyes bore into Kurt’s again, sending silent signals in some language Kurt couldn’t understand.

“But Kurt, the way give yourself – the way you _gave_ yourself to me, last night – I realized that I don’t want the fantasy, not really. I want you. All the parts of you. And I can’t have you, I _can’t_ , we have tonight and tomorrow and then it’s over . . .”

Kurt clutched tight at Sebastian’s hands and pressed his lips together hard to keep from speaking because he’d told Sebastian he wouldn’t, but the absolute finality of those words sucked the air out of the room and left him gasping. Tonight and tomorrow? And that was all? He wasn’t ready – he hadn’t expected . . .

“. . . and I need, just once, to be you and me, Kurt and Sebastian. I want to know, so I can remember, how that feels. Without barriers or roles and after last night it felt like that might just be possible. But it can’t be like this.” Sebastian gestured with his free hand at the space between them, Kurt’s body, and his own.

“Like what?” Kurt found the breath to ask.

“I want us to be equal. Just for tonight. You don’t have clothes to put on so . . .” Sebastian let go of Kurt’s hand and pulled again at the laces, loosening his breeches so only his grip on the strings held them up. Kurt forced himself to stare only at Sebastian’s face, holding his gaze.

"But I . . ." Kurt fumbled to find the words he needed. "It was so strange today and I don't know what's going on, Sebastian. I need to understand."

Sebastian kept his hold on his trousers. His lips tightened, and when he spoke it was slowly and carefully again. “There are things I have to tell you,” he said. “Explanations . . . questions that you deserve answers to.”

Once again, with virtuoso aim, Sebastian targeted Kurt’s exact fears.

“I'm going to give you those answers. I didn’t plan to at first, but I don’t think I could live with myself if I was that much of coward. I promise you can ask me anything . . . tomorrow."

Kurt opened his mouth to object but Sebastian cut him off before he could make a sound.

"Please, Kurt. Just for tonight. Tonight I want to be myself, with you. And me being naked doesn’t have to mean anything. We don’t have to do anything, we don’t even have to touch. But I can’t stand to be dressed when you can’t be. I want to be as vulnerable to you as you are to me.” He hesitated, searching Kurt’s face, and he must have found what he was looking for because he opened his hand and let the breeches fall to the floor.

With supernatural self-control, Kurt kept his eyes on Sebastian’s face. He didn’t want lust to cloud his judgment – at least not any more than it already was. He needed to decide if he was willing to take Sebastian’s word. Could he put off the questions that had buzzed in his head all day and trust that tomorrow Sebastian would give him answers? Would there even _be_ a tomorrow for him, with Gavin’s promise of punishment hanging unfulfilled over his head? And even if Kurt did survive another day, could he trust Sebastian to come back and face the difficult questions he still wasn’t sure he wanted to ask? He searched Sebastian’s eyes just exactly as Sebastian had searched his, and while he wasn’t sure he saw what he needed there, he found himself raising an eyebrow that was well out of practice in such an imperious gesture.

“That was very noble, the whole no touching part,” he said, and he was pretty sure he was smirking, “but I was promised an orgasm tonight and there’s no way I’m letting you back out of that.”

Sebastian smiled back, and his shoulders dropped away from his ears, betraying his relief. “I will give you that and whatever else you ask for. Anything you want.”

“Hmmmm,” Kurt teased, finally stepping back to view Sebastian for the first time in all his naked glory. And glory was definitely the right word. In a conscious reversal of their first night, Kurt circled Sebastian, taking in the toned thighs of those long, long legs, the firm ass, the dark moles and freckles that speckled here and there. Sebastian chuckled with a huff, but by the time Kurt returned to the front his cock was starting to swell with interest.

Sebastian’s body was like something out of a dream and now there was nothing it could hide from Kurt. But the thing Kurt most wanted from tonight had nothing to do with anything below Sebastian’s neck.

“Anything I ask for, you said?”

Sebastian nodded, still smiling, and when Kurt stepped close his own cock began to rise in anticipation. As he had before Sebastian interrupted him, he raised his fingers toward the bright bruise on Sebastian’s neck, but this time there was no trembling. He pressed his fingers to the mark and saw the tendons in Sebastian’s neck tighten in response. He took another step – now their chests were touching and each cock pressed into the other’s thigh – and moved his hand to hold Sebastian’s shoulder. He leaned in so close, breathing the now-familiar scent of Sebastian’s skin, and brushed his lips over the bruised flesh. Sebastian’s sigh caught in his throat with a barely-there sound as he tilted his head to expose himself to Kurt’s lips, and Kurt could feel a shudder ripple down his torso.

He stepped back, just enough to see Sebastian’s face, eyes burning dark and elusive. It was amazing, the way Sebastian’s naked body gave away every reaction. Nothing could be hidden. Was this how Sebastian had always known what Kurt was thinking, almost before Kurt knew himself? Kurt felt a rush of power like nothing he’d ever experienced. Tonight Sebastian was an open book and Kurt wanted to read every page, slowly, with his fingers and his lips. And he knew exactly what chapter to start with. He moved his hand again, capturing the back of Sebastian’s neck; holding him so he couldn’t get away this time. Sebastian’s full, gorgeous bottom lip beckoned him and tonight he was going to have it. Sebastian didn’t quite manage to stifle a gasp and he tried to pull back but Kurt was ready for him. He held tight and moved fast, pressing his lips to Sebastian’s. He had no idea what he was doing and he silently begged Sebastian to take over, to move somehow, to show him how it was done. But Sebastian’s lips stayed still and after a moment Kurt pulled back, disappointed but undeterred.

Sebastian’s eyes were wary again, like he was evaluating some new kind of threat.

“What is it?” Kurt asked.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Sebastian said, but his voice trembled.

“You don’t want to kiss me. You’ll touch me and suck me, anything but this. Why?”

“You have no idea how much I want to kiss you.” Sebastian sounded like he meant it, but his lips and his eyes were having two totally different conversations.

“This is not an ‘I want to kiss you’ face.” Kurt stroked his fingers along Sebastian’s jaw and caressed his thumb just under the pretty pink swell.

Sebastian caught his hand and turned into it. He had no problem kissing Kurt’s fingers at least. He teased them with those soft lips, but Kurt was not going to allow himself to be distracted. He pulled his hand out of Sebastian’s grasp.

“Tell me,” he ordered.

Trapped, Sebastian shrugged, looked away, pressed his lips together. He moved away from Kurt, to the foot of the bed where he could stare out the window at the dark, wet sky, heedless of the fact that he might be seen from outside. “Do you remember when I told you how brave you were, the other night?”

“Of course I do. I never forget a compliment.”

Sebastian didn’t even pretend to laugh. “Well I’m not,” he said, without turning away from the window. “Brave, I mean. I want to kiss you, I want to more than kiss you, gods, Kurt, I want so much with you. This is all so much more than I thought it would be. That’s why I’ve been trying so hard to keep it just a game. Because I want to lose myself in you and the deeper I go the harder it’s going to be to let you go.”

 _Then don’t let me go,_ Kurt wanted to shout at him. _Find a way. Save me. Take me out of here and set me free._ But despite what Sebastian had said, there were things Kurt wasn’t brave enough to face either. Not yet. Not tonight.

“But you just said you didn’t want it to be a game anymore,” he said instead, and he could hear his silent questions in the accusing tone of his own voice.

“I know what I said.”

“So – what? Was that only supposed to apply to me? I’m the one who’s supposed to give everything, again, while you keep yourself safe? Because that’s not fair. Last night –”

Sebastian spun away from the window. “That’s my point! Last night –”

“Last night I gave you everything I had. I didn’t keep anything back from you – everything you asked for. And you _just_ said you wanted us to be equal tonight.”

“I did, I –”

“It doesn’t work that way! You can’t ask me to give up everything that protects me and then hide behind your own walls!” Kurt was the one pacing now, making sharp turns at each wall. “You’re the one who brought us here. I would have played the slut for you; I didn’t have a choice. But you came in here and you asked for things and promised things and I risked everything I am for you! You can’t even imagine what I’ve risked. We can’t be equal if I’m the only one putting myself in danger. It’s not fair!” Kurt insisted again, as if fair was something he had a right to. But he’d come too far with Sebastian to back out now.

“I’m standing here naked,” Sebastian protested, spreading his arms wide. Lightning flashed behind him, outlining him in sharp relief. “How can you –?”

“You think that matters?” Kurt shouted to be heard over the following thunder. “I walk around here naked every day! Do you think Gavin or any of those people out there,” he tossed his head toward the door, “know anything about me at all? Do you think _you_ would have known anything if I hadn’t decided to let you in? My body isn’t _me_ , and yours isn’t –”

“Kurt!” Sebastian finally moved away from the window. He grabbed Kurt by the shoulders and shook him, but gently, and there was more frustration than anger in his voice. “Mother’s tits, would you just please let me say something? Please?”

Kurt stared at him.

“Please?” Sebastian asked again, quieter this time, and he let go of Kurt’s shoulders but stayed close.

Kurt nodded.

“Thank you,” Sebastian said, the shadow of a smile playing around his lips. He clasped his hands, pressed them to his chin, and Kurt could see by the way his muscles twitched that he wanted to move away again. But he stayed where he was, facing Kurt this time as he spoke.

“You’re right,” he said in a voice that was suddenly heavy with sadness. “I am a coward. You have no idea how afraid I am. Of everything. I deserve everything you said. I’m cowardly and . . . and selfish.” He laughed a little bitter laugh. “Let’s not forget that one. Because all I’ve been thinking about is how scared _I_ am, when you, gods Kurt, I can’t even imagine how terrified you must have been here every single day. And I just keep asking you for things. To submit. To give me time. To honor all my boundaries when all I’ve done is destroy yours.” He shook his head. “I never should have started this whole thing.”

“But you did,” Kurt said, just as quietly.

“I should have stayed away from you. I should have been stronger. But I wasn’t. No big surprise there. I’ve never been strong enough. Not for you or . . . anybody else.”

Kurt wanted to ask who anybody else was, but his father had always told him not to ask questions he wasn’t one hundred percent sure he wanted the answers to. “You must be strong,” he said instead. “You live openly. I heard the servants talking about it. You tell people what you are. You don’t hide it. I’ve never even imagined being able to do that. It must take so much strength.”

Sebastian laughed again, louder this time, but still heavy with bitterness. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But really that’s just another kind of selfish.”

“I don’t understand,” Kurt said.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for so much Kurt. You’ll never know how much.” Sebastian’s words were serious but he smiled a little, finally, and reached for Kurt’s hand.

Kurt allowed himself to be pulled closer, until their chests were almost touching again. “I don’t want you to be sorry. Except maybe for not kissing me back.”

“I am very sorry for that.” He hung his head like a penitent schoolboy and looked up at Kurt through his lashes. “Can you give me another chance?”

It was so silly, Sebastian flirting about a kiss after all they’d done, with the two of them stark naked and inches from each other. But Kurt liked this so much better than the yelling and denying. This was what he wanted from their night. To feel like the boy he’d been, when his dreams had still been innocent even in their darkest yearnings.

“That was my first kiss, you know,” he chided playfully. He cocked his eyebrow again, and it was easier this time to remember how.

Sebastian grimaced. “Not much of a first kiss.”

“Whose fault is that?”

They were so close, their banter so gentle, and now Kurt’s heart was fluttering properly in his throat. It was almost just the way he’d always imagined it.

“Mine. Completely and undeniably. Unforgivably,” Sebastian said. “But selfish as I am, the one thing I’ve always had going for me is that at least I usually learn from my mistakes. And I try to never make the same one twice.”

His hands came up to cup Kurt’s cheeks, his face moved closer, tilting down the tiny bit he needed to, while Kurt’s tilted up, and Kurt held his breath. But before their lips could touch lightning flashed once more, filling the room with blinding light and finally answering Kurt’s most burning question.

“Green,” he breathed.

“What?” Sebastian’s lips were so close his breath tickled Kurt’s mouth.

“Your eyes. They’re green. I could never tell.”

“You could have just asked me if you wanted to know.”

They were sparkling, those green eyes. That Kurt could see, even after they were plunged back into darkness, He slid his arms around Sebastian’s waist and tugged him closer. “Uh-huh,” was all he managed to say before Sebastian’s lips touched his and then he was sure he would never speak again.

It was so very different this time. Warm, soft, open, Sebastian’s mouth welcomed his touch. His lips moved ever so gently against Kurt’s, setting pinwheels spinning in Kurt’s belly. His fingers tightened in Kurt’s hair and his tongue teased light as air at Kurt’s bottom lip, inviting but not insisting, until Kurt was bold enough to meet it with his own.

It was electrifying, the moment that he tasted Sebastian’s tongue, tentative brushes that melted Kurt’s knees and sparked brilliant like the lightning splitting the night sky. A tiny whimpering sound escaped Sebastian’s throat and Kurt could feel his cock starting to stir again, both their cocks, swelling against each other. His arm tightened around Sebastian’s waist and when Sebastian pressed for more Kurt let his mouth fall open, welcoming him, grateful for his guidance. Sebastian’s tongue danced along the top of Kurt’s, then the bottom, and Kurt’s belly flip-flopped with every wet slide. He’d never imagined anything like this, how could he have? He could _feel_ how much Sebastian desired him, how he trembled with the effort of holding back, to keep the kiss gentle and slow. He could feel it in the press of his fingers and the rise of his cock. Sebastian’s lips spoke to him in a way nothing else they’d done had, of how much Sebastian wanted.

There was power in it, being wanted; it rushed through Kurt like fire and when he drew back because the world was spinning and he had to get his legs on solid ground if only for a moment, Sebastian moaned a denial and pulled him in again, catching his mouth, stronger and more demanding. So Kurt held on to the only thing that wasn’t spinning – Sebastian. He gave up Sebastian’s waist and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, anchoring himself, and Sebastian’s hands abandoned Kurt’s face to pull at his hips, dragging their bodies tight together, cocks trapped in between.

Thunder rumbled between them, vibrating through their bodies. Sebastian’s mouth broke off, but before Kurt could complain the heat of soft lips pressed to his ear.

“Gods, oh my gods Kurt, _fuck_.”

Sebastian’s hips pumped his cock hard against Kurt’s.

“Shut up and keep kissing me.” Kurt tugged at Sebastian’s hair to pull him back where he belonged.

It was everything he’d ever dreamed of. Sebastian’s mouth, Sebastian’s _hunger_ , Kurt was drowning in it and he never wanted to surface. With fumbling steps they somehow made their way to the bed and fell onto it, and Sebastian rolled them so that Kurt was on top, stretched out along the infinite length of Sebastian’s body, legs tangled as inseparably as their tongues.

Kurt lost track of time; there was no such thing as time as they devoured each other with mouths and hands, pulling, sucking, tasting. Moans and grunts and pleading whines filled the air and there was no way of telling who was making what noises. Every movement of Sebastian’s lips against his own echoed through Kurt’s whole body and he never wanted to stop; he wanted to lie here forever, with Sebastian’s arms around him and Sebastian’s fingers clutching his ass and Sebastian’s cock leaking – he could feel the liquid slide between them – against his own. He loved being on top, in control, he teased backward, making Sebastian chase his lips, then dove deep, tickling his tongue over the roof of Sebastian’s mouth. And Sebastian surrendered to it, letting Kurt drink his fill of the power. At least until Kurt began to rut against him in earnest. Then, a step ahead as always, he rolled them so that Kurt landed on his back with Sebastian hovering over him.

“Don’t stop . . . why are we stopping?” Kurt gasped, breathless from the kissing.

Sebastian was panting too, but he held his body away from Kurt’s searching thrusts. “Because if we don’t I’m going to come and there’s no way in the world I’m letting this end so soon,” he said.

“Come twice then, just kiss me.” Kurt levered himself up on his elbows to reach for Sebastian’s mouth but Sebastian pushed him back down with a firm hand on his chest.

“I’m serious, Kurt,” he said, but his laugh belied him. “No more. Not if you’re going to keep moving your ass like that.”

Kurt scowled, but he let himself go limp under Sebastian’s hand. And he was slightly mollified when Sebastian scooted off him and rolled onto his side, pulling Kurt so they were facing each other and taking his hand. Their fingers twined together and when Sebastian squeezed, Kurt couldn’t help squeezing back.

“I think the lamp’s going out,” Kurt said, because Sebastian’s face was so close and his lips red and swollen and he had to say something to stave off the need to taste them some more. And the room _was_ getting darker, although that could just be part of Kurt’s feeling that the whole world was drifting away from them and leaving them stranded together on the island of his bed.

Sebastian smiled, soft, lazy, sensuous. “We still have the fire. And the storm.”

“I think the storm’s going out, too.”

It was true; there hadn’t been lightning since the flash that had illuminated Sebastian’s eyes, and the rain was softening to a gentle patter on the roof.

“So you like the way I move my ass?”

Sebastian laughed. He bumped his nose against Kurt’s – a gesture that should have been silly but instead made Kurt’s stomach twirl. “I like everything about you. That’s the problem.”

Kurt closed the distance between their lips and kissed Sebastian again. He needed to give his mouth something to do so it wouldn’t ask why. The closer they got the harder it was for Kurt to remember that not all Sebastian’s answers would be things he wanted to hear.

Sebastian allowed the kiss but tsked at Kurt when their lips parted. “What did I say?”

“I won’t move. I promise. Just this.” He kissed Sebastian again, light as a feather, flicked his tongue over that pretty bottom lip, and let go of Sebastian’s hand so he could caress up his side, over his chest. He found a nipple and brushed it with his thumb until he could feel it tighten.

“You’re moving,” Sebastian murmured against his lips.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Never.” Sebastian’s tongue invaded Kurt’s mouth again but Kurt was more than ready for it. He met it with his own and their dance began all over again. This time Kurt kept his pelvis back, but even without the rutting he was amazed at how such tiny movements of lips and tongues could radiate excitement all through his body down to the very ends of his fingers and toes. He pinched at the nipple under his fingers and Sebastian’s moan only made Kurt’s own need greater. But then Sebastian rolled away again, grabbing Kurt’s hand and holding it firm.

“I think somebody needs a lesson in patience.”

“You think I don’t know about patience?” Kurt asked.

Sebastian was breathing hard but he turned his head toward Kurt and smiled. “I think you’re an expert at waiting, but that’s not the same thing.” He lifted Kurt’s hand to his mouth and tongued at the tip of Kurt’s index finger. Kurt had no idea how such a gentle movement on one tiny part of his body so far from his core could make flames rise up and engulf all the oxygen in his chest, but he wasn’t going to complain about it.

“Patience,” Sebastian said as he moved from Kurt’s first finger to the second, “is a completely different skill. And the rewards,” his mouth found Kurt’s ring finger and sucked on it, raking his teeth across the flesh before pulling it away with a pop, “are incredible.”

“Mmmm,” Kurt hummed, because Sebastian was working on his pinky now, kissing his way to the palm where he licked lazy patterns that sent tingling rushes all the way up to his elbow. “I’ve waited enough. I don’t want to wait anymore. I want everything, over and over again. I want it all, forever.”

“Come here.” Sebastian pulled Kurt until he was on top again, straddling Sebastian’s waist. “I want all that too. But we have to make do with what we can have.”

For the hundredth time Kurt pushed questions away. “I can work with that,” he smiled and lowered his mouth to Sebastian’s again, nipping at that bottom lip with one teasing bite after another until Sebastian growled and pulled his head down for a proper exploration.

Kurt meant to try to be patient, he really did, but with Sebastian’s muscled torso pressed under him and Sebastian’s hand cupping his ass, fingers too close and not close enough to his balls, and Sebastian’s mouth burning against his own . . . well no one could be expected to control themselves in such a situation. Soon Kurt was rutting again, rocking his cock against Sebastian’s in slides so rough they almost hurt. Almost, and just enough, and pleasure was bubbling up from so many places on his body he couldn’t keep track of them all. He could feel the looming eruption roll like thunder through his belly and thighs and balls and when Sebastian’s fingers brushed the crack of his ass nothing could have induced him to stop. He thrust with abandon, until he wasn’t even kissing anymore, just moaning into Sebastian’s open mouth. The fever grew, a firestorm inside him and he was so, so close, just a few more exquisite slides . . .

Sebastian sat up abruptly, dumping Kurt onto the bed beside him. “You are incorrigible,” he scolded.

Kurt put every ounce of his frustrated need into an eloquent groan, but Sebastian only laughed.

“I think someone needs a little lesson in how to behave.”

Kurt should have reminded Sebastian that they were being equal tonight – that it was Sebastian’s own idea – but the words made his belly flutter with excitement so he held his tongue.

Sebastian stared at him, his brow wrinkled as he thought.

“Okay, come here,” he said, again pulling Kurt on top of him.

“Isn’t this where I got in trouble last time?” Kurt asked, rolling his hips hopefully against Sebastian’s.

“Turn around.”

“What?”

“Turn around.” Sebastian insisted. He pulled at Kurt’s shoulders until Kurt turned so that he was facing away from Sebastian, still straddling his waist.

“Now sit,” Sebastian said. He spread his legs and pushed and pulled until Kurt was sitting on the bed, leaning back against Sebastian’s chest with Sebastian’s cock pressing hard into the small of his back.

“I hate to point out the obvious, but I can’t kiss you this way.”

“Can’t you?” Sebastian pulled Kurt’s head back onto his shoulder and turned it so that their lips hovered a hair’s-breadth apart. But when Kurt tried to kiss him he pulled back.

“Sebastian!”

Sebastian smiled. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name. I like it. Say it again.”

“Not until you tell me why we’re not still kissing.”

Kurt squirmed, trying to turn around, but Sebastian hooked his legs around Kurt’s, trapping them, so when he spread his own legs frog-wide, Kurt’s were dragged along with him. Sebastian’s arms held Kurt’s back tight against his chest.

“By all means keep wriggling. It feels amazing,” Sebastian said, thrusting his heavy cock against Kurt’s back.

“Is that what this is about? You get pleasure and I don’t? Like last night?”

“You didn’t get any pleasure last night?”

“You know what I mean. I’m not the one who said tonight was supposed to be different.”

“Tonight is different.” Sebastian’s hands on Kurt’s chest softened, spread wide-fingered, and stroked up and down his torso. The caress was delicious and hard as Kurt tried to hold onto his indignation, those beautiful hands were eroding it fast.

“You get pleasure. You just have to let me give it to you,” Sebastian said, still stroking. “I can make you feel so much, things you never imagined. All you have to do is relax.” His fingers crept up to find Kurt’s nipples and brushed over them, back and forth.

“It’s hard to relax when you’re doing that,” Kurt confessed. The teasing touches were already starting to take his breath away.

“That’s the challenge,” Sebastian said, soft and low against Kurt’s ear. “The more you relax, the longer it’ll take and the longer it takes the better it’ll be. You have to trust me. Let me show you how amazing it can be.”

Kurt wondered briefly what Sebastian would do if he said no, if he insisted that they keep kissing and rutting until they spilled onto each other’s bodies, locked together, face to face. But then Sebastian’s right hand moved lower, slid loose and light over his eager cock while his left kept plucking at one erect nipple and suddenly Kurt couldn’t remember why he would ever object to Sebastian’s plan.

“Breathe deep and slow,” Sebastian murmured. “Let your body go. Relax and let me hold you.” He took a long, deep breath in then blew it out, slowly. When he inhaled again Kurt matched him and they breathed together. The rhythm of it, the rise and fall of their chests together, and the sweeping strokes Sebastian’s hands made up and down Kurt’s body became hypnotic.

“Listen to the rain,” Sebastian whispered.

The storm was drifting away and the drops fell more gently now on the roof, a light and soothing patter that added to the effect Sebastian was having on Kurt’s body. Sebastian’s hands felt so good, his body under Kurt so strong, that slowly Kurt began to melt back into him, tension falling away, until the only thing that wasn’t completely relaxed was his straining cock. His head rested on Sebastian’s shoulder and his hands on Sebastian’s thighs.

“Good. Stay just like that. Don’t let yourself tense up, no matter how turned on you get.”

“How turned on am I going to get?” Kurt couldn’t help asking.

“Extremely, if I have anything to say about it.”

Trapped as Kurt was, Sebastian was the only one who _would_ have anything to say about it, but Kurt didn’t have a chance to mention that because Sebastian’s hands had changed their motion, they were more purposeful now, sliding up to tease his nipples then down along the crease of his thighs, circumnavigating his balls and up again along his hard length. Under Sebastian’s fingers Kurt’s skin tingled warm, then hot, then burning and pleasure swelled like a buoying wave, carrying him unresistant.

“See, doesn’t that feel good?”

“It feels amazing,” Kurt breathed. “But I want to come.” He couldn’t help whining when Sebastian’s fingers swept his cock again, and his ass tightened without his permission, seeking more sensation than he was being allowed.

“Relax,” Sebastian insisted. “I’m going to make you come, I promise. But don’t chase it.” His fingers kept moving, relentless, as Kurt struggled to obey. “Don’t be in such a hurry. It’s about the journey, Kurt. The destination is always the same but how you get there . . . that’s the exciting part. An eruption is an eruption is an eruption. It’s all about the buildup.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You realize you just named more eruptions than I’ve had in as long as I can remember?” Kurt retorted, but he did as he was told anyhow. It wasn’t easy, but as soon as his ass relaxed against Sebastian’s thighs he was rewarded by feather light strokes up and down his aching cock. “Oh, gods that’s good,” he moaned.

“You see? Just like this. Let me do it all.”

Sebastian’s fingers teased and caressed and traced fire across Kurt’s body and the waves of pleasure came faster and faster, one right after the other, rocking Kurt on rhythmic swells, drawing helpless moans from his chest at each peak. But he didn’t tense or push, he let Sebastian have his way and as those hands worked their spells the surging bliss, instead of coalescing into that singular tipping point he craved, spread, flooding his body with sensation. His ears, his toes, the roots of his hair, they all throbbed with a need as intense as that in his nipples or his dancing, dripping cock. And Sebastian took advantage of it all, building that need with measured touches, all designed to bring Kurt’s body to the very edge of perfection and keep him there, gasping and trembling in the arms that held him.

“How do you feel? Isn’t it amazing?” Sebastian asked.

“I’m so close. I want to come.”

“Don’t. Don’t want. Just be.” One of Sebastian’s hands closed around Kurt’s cock in the loosest possible fist and held him, not moving. Kurt’s body screamed at him to thrust, one was all it would take, he was half a breath from falling over into that exquisite oblivion. He moaned out his agony, but he held still and let Sebastian keep him there, hovering over the infinite drop.

“Yes. Gods, you’re amazing.” Sebastian’s lips brushing Kurt’s ear were just as blissfully tempting as the hand around his cock. One finger touched the perfect spot under the head, light as a breeze on a summer day and circled, just once, but Kurt’s whole body spun with it, loose and unanchored, before it lifted away. For the space of three breaths he was left untouched then the finger circled again. Touch then gone, touch then gone, the pattern repeated itself until Kurt’s every exhale was a whine and he’d lost all sense of up or down and he could feel Sebastian’s rigid cock thrusting gently against the small of his back.

But through it all he obeyed, and as each tiny circle radiated supernova heat through Kurt’s body, he began to understand. He was becoming the pleasure, the unbearable intensity was its own state of being. He floated on it, and even as it tortured him it also embraced him, scorching every cell but holding him, filling him up. He heard his own moans lengthen into sounds that weren’t whines or cries but something else entirely. He was breathing out the fire that Sebastian’s hands were feeding, and Sebastian was absorbing it, stroking it back into his skin, thrusting harder now. Everything Kurt had was fighting to stay still; if he moved so much as a toe he knew he’d come and suddenly he didn’t want to, not yet, not until he’d seen how far his extremity could go and how far it could take the man holding him.

“Oh, Maker, do you feel that?” Sebastian breathed hot in his ear.

“Yes,” Kurt managed to whisper.

“Would you stay like this? If I asked you to?” Sebastian’s voice was shaking with some emotion Kurt didn’t have the space to figure out. “Would you hold it in for me, all night? Just so I could know you were here, hard, desperate for me? Would you do it, if I asked?”

The words, the very idea, tore at him with almost physical pain. Everything inside him recoiled from them, but at the same time he felt the slit of his cock pulse open, pouring slick down onto his belly.

“You promised,” it felt like a wail but came out in a whisper. “You promised I could come.”

“I know I did. But If I asked you to?” Sebastian’s finger made another circle, spinning Kurt ever closer and never close enough.

“It’s too much. I don’t think I can.”

“But would you _try_? If I asked?”

Tears filled the space behind Kurt’s eyelids and overflowed to run unchecked down his cheeks. He didn’t dare so much as squint to try to hold them back. He couldn’t do it. It wasn’t fair. It would break him, to come this far, to drown so completely in sensations he’d never known his body could create, then be left unfulfilled. The very idea was unbearable. He wanted to shake his head, to shove his cock up against Sebastian’s hand and make the whole point moot.

But he didn’t. He stayed still, loose in Sebastian’s arms. He let that torturing finger make two more swirls around that so-sensitive spot, holding him poised between unending pain and unimaginable pleasure. His throat closed so tight he wasn’t sure he could make any sound at all, but when he forced a word out of it, that word was, “Yes.”

“I’m not going to ask you to,” Sebastian said. “But you have no idea what it does to me, knowing that you would.” He pressed kisses to Kurt’s cheek, licking at the tears that were still falling unhindered. At some point, as Sebastian’s words made their way into Kurt’s pleasure-fuddled brain, they stopped being tears of fear and started being tears of relief. And, strangest thing, in the wake of his scare Kurt found Sebastian’s torturous pace easier to bear.

Sebastian moved his hands, but it was alright, Kurt’s cock throbbed beautifully even without his touch, eager but not anxious. Slowly, as if he was handling the most fragile of porcelain, Sebastian lifted Kurt’s arms up and back, until they hung limp around Sebastian’s neck behind him. Although he’d been completely at Sebastian’s mercy before, the position made him feel even more exposed and beautifully vulnerable.

“I’m going to make you come now,” Sebastian said, his hands wandering to Kurt’s nipples where they circled with ghostly caresses. “But I want you to stay relaxed like this as long as you can. Don’t tense up until you absolutely have to. It’s going to be incredible, I promised.” His fingers plucked at Kurt’s nipples, tiny pinches that felt like heaven.

“Gods, Sebastian . . .” Kurt moaned.

“Oh, I like the way you say that.”

“Just make me come and I’ll say it as much as you want.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.” Kurt could feel Sebastian’s smirk against his neck and then those gorgeous fingers moved, lower, lower, so close to where Kurt needed them, until finally they brushed over the head of his cock and down the shaft, around his stone-hard balls then up again, past the corona, over the tip through surging slick. Around and around they went and fresh tears rolled down Kurt’s cheeks because he knew he was finally sliding past the point of no return. It was agony to stay still and loose, not to clench the muscles that craved the violence of release, but then suddenly it _wasn’t_. Suddenly the waves of pleasure began to swell, spreading, lifting, growing beyond anything Kurt had ever experienced. He waited, he longed for the peak but the peak wasn’t coming, just this constant spreading ecstasy, until Kurt felt his own body must be swelling too, just to contain it. Dimly he could hear someone sobbing ragged breaths, but he didn’t have any awareness left to try to figure out who it was because every cell in his body was busy lighting up with a bliss that kept growing, beyond physical limits, beyond anything that should be possible.

And then, just when he started to fear that this was all there would be, this infinite building, a voice in his ear groaned, “Fuck, Kurt,” and a hand clenched spasmodically around his cock and that was it. Everything, the entire universe of possibility, receded in a flash, coalesced into one infinite point deep in his aching balls and, as his body finally destroyed his control, and with one violent convulsion around Sebastian, exploded.

The bed, the room, the world were all blown away, vaporized in the heat that spewed from every pore in Kurt’s body. Shudders tore through him; he was helpless in their grip, helpless in the face of his final ecstatic release. Over and over again his muscles seized and with each twisting spasm pleasure surged out in undulating ripples. There wasn’t one peak at all, there were ten, a hundred, a thousand; shock waves ricocheted from his core to his extremities and back again. And through it all he could feel Sebastian’s arms around him, holding him safe while he rode to undiscovered heights of ecstasy. His arms wrapped tight around Sebastian’s neck; his legs contracted, pulling Sebastian’s with them as he curled around the unbearable heat inside of him.

The trip back down to earth was slow and punctuated by twitches and shivers as aftershocks rocked Kurt in odd places. His throat hurt – he didn’t know why – and behind him Sebastian was huffing every bit as hard as Kurt was himself. Then he realized the rigid press was gone from the small of his back. Instead he felt warm, damp, softening flesh; Sebastian had come as well, come just from watching Kurt. Kurt’s cock gave one last spasm at the thought, and he felt a wet dribble slide over the sensitive head. It made him shiver.

“And now you know why they call it an eruption.” Sebastian’s voice was rough in Kurt’s ear.

Kurt’s hands were still clasped tight around Sebastian’s neck. He had to force them to relax; his shoulders burned from the unusual angle. They’d made a horrible mess, he was sure, and any minute he was going to start to panic about that, but his muscles had all gone soft and lax and he couldn’t imagine drumming up the effort.  Plus he’d promised Sebastian something and the Hummels always kept their promises. He squirmed around, and Sebastian let him, until they were facing each other, pressed chest to very messy chest. Kurt held onto the memory of his orgasm, he wanted Sebastian to see the bliss still suffusing his face and if the way Sebastian’s eyes widened was any indication, he succeeded.

“Sebastian,” he murmured, low and provocative.

Sebastian groaned and closed his eyes. “Don’t do that. You’ll make me hard again and it’s way too soon for that to be anything but painful.”

Kurt lowered his head until his lips touched Sebastian’s ear. “Sebastian,” he whispered again. “Sebastian . . .”

Sebastian grabbed the back of Kurt’s head and turned it so he could shut him up with his mouth. Kurt found he didn’t mind being interrupted when it was by soft lips and warm tongue and the taste of his first real lover. But the kiss had barely gotten started when he was moving once again, as Sebastian rolled them to lay side-by-side on the little bed.

“Don’t. Everything’s going to get so messy now. We’ll never get it cleaned up.”

Sebastian smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. No one will know.”

Kurt touched Sebastian’s shoulder, then his cheek. “You keep saying that, but you can’t. You can’t protect me from him.” It was as close as Kurt dared to come to the questions he wanted to ask, and he held his breath waiting for Sebastian to answer.

“Have I let you down yet?”

Kurt opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again without speaking the denial that had been on his lips. Because Sebastian hadn’t done anything to help him; Sebastian was as powerless as Kurt himself was, really, and yet . . .

He’d come without permission and hadn’t been punished. Gavin had promised punishment but he’d never said what for, and today he hadn’t even summoned Kurt, much less threatened him. And Reginald hadn’t sounded the alarm when he’d found Kurt lurking either. There was no way, Kurt knew, no logical way that Sebastian could have controlled any of that, and yet Sebastian’s face was so calm and sure as he nipped at Kurt’s fingers and waited for him to speak.

But Kurt wasn’t ready to answer that particular question. Instead he let his head fall back on his pillow and stared up at the ceiling while Sebastian licked his thumb. “This has been such a strange day,” he said.

“Why? What happened today?”

But Kurt had spoken without thinking. He realized too late that he didn’t want to tell Sebastian why it had been strange - the punishment that wasn’t, his crises of confidence, the inexplicable showdown between himself and Reginald. He searched his brain and came up with the one thing he could safely tell Sebastian.

“He didn’t send for me today.”

“Gavin?” Sebastian asked, around Kurt’s pinkie in his mouth.

“He always sends for me. But he didn’t today.”

“And that’s strange?”

“And then you kissed me.”

“I’m pretty sure you kissed me.”

“My first kiss,” Kurt said, undeterred by Sebastian’s interruption. “After everything I’ve . . . done, my first kiss. Strange.”

“Hopefully not too strange.”

Kurt answered Sebastian with a hand to the back of his head, pulling him close, with lips full of intent, insistence and longing. And Sebastian met him with equal fervor, breathing prayers into Kurt’s mouth.

There was no more press and pull of needy flesh; those parts of them were spent. They kissed now because it was all they had left, the final movement in their dance together. They kissed for what felt like hours, until the rain dwindled away altogether and the only sound in the little room was their mingled moans and whimpers and the creaking of the bed frame. They kissed until the lamp flickered out and the fluids spread between their bodies dried, unnoticed. They kissed until Kurt’s lips were swollen and half-numb and his eyelids were irresistibly heavy. He didn’t want to sleep, but sleep was inevitable. He could feel its pull along his limbs. At some point he realized they weren’t kissing anymore and he opened his eyes to find Sebastian’s, those eyes that couldn’t ever have been anything but green, so close, but looking sad again, sadder than before, as sad as Kurt had ever seen anyone look.

“Did I fall asleep?” Kurt murmured.

Sebastian shook his head. “No, but you’re about to.”

“No, I want to –”

“Shhhh. Go to sleep. I want to watch you sleep.” Sebastian’s voice was low and intense and his fingers trembled as he stroked Kurt’s temple.

“What’s wrong?” Kurt had to ask, because of the eyes.

“Nothing. I just . . .” Sebastian’s hand paused in its stroking, for the briefest moment before it moved again. “I need you to know that I’m never going to forget you.”

“Sebastian –”

“No matter what else happens, I’ll remember this moment for as long as I live. And when things are . . . when it’s all too much, I’ll close my eyes and this is what I’ll see. This is what will get me through. This memory. I wish you could understand how much . . .” He trailed off, but his fingers still stroked across Kurt’s temple, down his cheek, and the gentle motion was rocking Kurt closer and closer to sleep.

Behind Sebastian Kurt could see the blackness outside his window thinning to predawn gray. The sun was about to rise; the storm was over.

“I don’t understand any of this,” Kurt confessed.

“I know. You will. Sleep Kurt.”

“Mmm. More kissing,” he protested, but his eyes were already closing again.

“Your wish is my command.”

Warm lips brushed his; a tongue licked softer than air. Even as the room lightened, the darkness inside him called, it wouldn’t be ignored, but Kurt fell asleep with Sebastian’s arms around him and Sebastian’s kisses seeing him safely into the infinite fall.

 


	10. Chapter 10

_“Destruction is the foundation of all creation.”_

_The afternoon sun slanted through the sparkling window panes that Kurt polished every morning before the sun was up. It left long rectangles of light on the bare floorboards he swept clean every evening when it was too dark to work. Master Neric sat on his bench with his white head bowed over a garment, his fingers flying so fast that they blurred like sparrows’ wings. Kurt stood before the huge work table holding the master’s fine shears, staring down at a pile of soft white linen that was meant to become a shirt – the very first garment he was to make entirely with his own hands._

_He was fourteen – and terrified. Every lesson he’d learned in two years of hard work had deserted him. The fabric glared at him like it knew all the secret fears he tried so hard to hide._

_“What if I . . .? His voice caught. He cleared it with a cough. “There’s so much of it. It’s so expensive. If I . . .” He didn’t dare finish his thought lest he make it real by invocation._

_Master Neric snorted from his bench. “You think that’s expensive?”_

_Kurt kept looking at the fabric, trying to find the courage to begin.  He heard the master moving behind him; heard the familiar rattle and clank as he unlocked the trunk he kept in one corner of the room. Then the old man shuffled back toward Kurt and tossed something on top of the pile of linen._

_“That’s expensive,” Master Neric said. He left the object where it was and went back to his bench._

_The swatch sat in a beam of sunlight, glowing against the white linen. It was the most exquisite thing Kurt had ever seen. Silk, he was sure, only silk could reflect the light like that. Brilliant sunshine yellow silk, brocaded with butterflies and flowers and one tiny bee in colors Kurt hadn’t even known could be reproduced by human hands. It was a square just big enough to wrap around Kurt’s small chest, with fraying, uneven edges. A scrap. A remnant of something else._

_“Pick it up,” the master said from his bench._

_Kurt’s fingers shook as he reached for it. He knew how silk was made, of course. Thousands, millions of tiny worms spinning cocoons for a metamorphosis they’d never achieve. They were transformed, in the end, but not at all in the way nature had intended. He closed his eyes to better feel the rough/smooth texture and the pattern of the embroidery. It slid through his hands like water given form. He could imagine just from the feel how it would drape and flow over his body, how the weight would anchor the movement. He wanted to cry with happiness that such a thing could exist outside of his imagination._

_“It’s fantastic,” he breathed._

_“It’s nothing compared to the gown I made from it.”_

_Still holding the fabric, Kurt turned to look at the master. “You?”_

_Master Neric nodded. He looked up from his work and the eyes under his bushy caterpillar eyebrows were soft with memory. “My first creation after I rose to journeyman. Lady Fenner. Her husband was on King Harold’s council. She took a great risk coming to me instead of Master Tressewick for her gown for young Prince Harold’s christening.” He smiled, not at Kurt but at the shining yellow silk. “When that fabric arrived . . . well, I’ve never been so scared. I cowered over it for at least a week.”_

_Kurt tried to imagine his master as a frightened journeyman but it was impossible. “I can’t believe that,” he said._

_Master Neric had come to the end of his seam. He tied a swift knot and clipped the thread, then setting the garment aside he rose and made his way slowly over to the table, still holding the needle with its trailing tail. “Imagine yards and yards of it. The pinnacle of both weaver’s and embroiderer’s art piled in billows all across the table. And you have to make the first cut.”_

_Kurt shuddered at the very idea._

_The master’s gray eyes rose to meet Kurt’s gaze. “Have you ever really listened to the words we use for things?”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“Cut. Break. Bite.” Master Neric clipped the ends of the words, snapping the consonants against his teeth, making them sharp. “The needle is a weapon.” He brandished it in Kurt’s face. “It rips; it severs; it tears apart what the cloth makers spent weeks and months creating. On a tiny, tiny level, to be sure, but over and over again. Thousands of infinitesimal wounds. Hundreds of thousands. Bite. Bite. Bite.” He mimed as he spoke, pushing the needle through an imaginary cloth. “But it binds, even as it breaks. It recreates. We recreate.”_

_He slid the needle into a nearby pincushion, one of the many that were scattered around their workroom. Then he reached out and stroked his fingers over the silk Kurt held. “The price of the fabric for that gown would buy this village, down to the last millpond duck. But the costliest of fabric is useless until someone cuts and tears and punctures and_ creates _.” He dropped his hand to the pile of linen and prodded at it like it was a dead animal he’d found by the road. “It’s nothing. Pointless. It’s no good to anyone until you give it shape and purpose. Never be afraid of destruction, boy. Without it nothing beautiful can be born into the world.”_

_He turned and went back to his bench, leaving Kurt holding the exquisite fabric. With a grunt the old man took up the garment he’d been working on, selected a fresh needle from the ones Kurt kept threaded for him in a cushion on a shelf nearby, and resumed his own act of destructive creation._

_Kurt was still staring at the fabric when a noise drew his attention to the large windows that looked out over the road past the shop. Laughter, raucous and sharp. Kurt’s fingers clenched instinctively around the delicate brocade as a small mob tumbled into view, carousing merrily up the street. It wasn’t really a mob; it was only Cale, Master Neric’s son, and a few of his friends, but grown almost to manhood they were about as close to a mob as Pluna would ever produce. Kurt’s heart sped to double time and he held his breath but none of them even glanced in the window as they passed. They were too busy shoving at one of their own, berating him merrily for some fault. Still, Kurt watched until they had moved on down the street and the sound of their voices began to die away._

_When he glanced at Master Neric he found the old tailor also staring out the window with an expression that made Kurt feel like he’d intruded on some deep, private moment. Kurt turned to the table, coughed a bit, and when he looked back the master was sewing again and the strange moment was gone._

_“Should I put this back in the trunk?” Kurt held the fabric out toward his master._

_Master Neric looked up again and stared at Kurt for what felt like a long time. “You keep it,” he finally said._

_“But master . . .”_

_“It was never meant to be an old man’s souvenir. I kept it so that it could provide inspiration for –” his lips pressed in a thin line before he continued “– my successor. For you.”_

_Kurt stroked reverent fingers over the fine embroidery. “Thank you, master,” he breathed._

_“Don’t thank me. Make a shirt.”_

_Kurt set the fabric carefully on his bench. He would take it home later and tuck it away with his other most precious belongings in the carved box he kept under his bed. But there was still time in the day for him to make a start. He faced the work table with renewed determination, picking up the linen by one selvage edge and shaking it out over the table with an emphatic snap, watching it settle like a cloud, straight and true, awaiting its destruction._

*    *    *

His knees hurt. He shifted on his pile of cushions and opened his eyes to the real world, the duke’s beautifully appointed sitting room, empty of all life save Kurt himself. He hadn’t seen a soul all morning; it was as if a ghost had pushed the bell that summoned him from his room. Yet he found he felt safer like this, following routine, than he had left alone in his room the day before. Safety, though, was always a relative concept for Kurt.

Destruction. All around him he saw only order in the carefully arranged furniture of the duke’s sitting room. Perfect symmetry. Oh, destruction had happened here, over and over again, he bore the marks of it, but there was no sign, not here, not unless you counted the small, dark stain that still marred the upholstery of the duke’s favorite armchair.

Destruction. Creation. Which had triumphed as the fire that Sebastian had started burned its way through him while he’d slept? He knew, he’d known the moment he’d woken alone in his little room, that the slut had been destroyed. Not just its mask, which he’d not found since the night Sebastian had first given him release, but all of it, every trace of the dissociation that had kept Kurt safe. He had known from the moment his lips touched another man’s for the first time in his life that he needed – he longed – to lie with Sebastian just one time as his true and honest self. But he couldn’t exist fully as two people. Offering himself to Sebastian had meant sacrificing the careful detachment that kept him safe from the things Gavin did and made Kurt do.

Now the slut was gone and what was left was the only thing Kurt was going to have to help him face today and tomorrow and the rest of his life, however long or short that might turn out to be. But was the Kurt Hummel he’d woken up as the same boy who’d trembled over a pile of linen in that workroom so long ago? Or had Sebastian’s fire forged someone new? What would happen when he finally – as he had to, he knew they wouldn’t leave him alone forever – faced Sebastian or Gavin or even Reginald?

He should probably be worrying about that. He should probably be frozen in fear at the mere thought. But his memory of Sebastian’s naked body in his bed wasn’t the only thing protecting him from panic. He had an unexpected ally.

The memories had begun to creep forward as soon as Kurt had floated up out of dreams of caressing lips and hands and opened his eyes to the early morning light and the emptiness of the space where Sebastian had lain. Locked away for so long, his memories sensed a new weakness and they circled like wolves, scenting opportunity, pushing forward one by one to test Kurt’s resistance. They were insistent and Kurt’s protective walls were damaged beyond repair. It was easier to let them have him. One by one they carried him back to a past that felt more real now than this room or the impossibly bizarre sequence of events that his life had become. Every time one left him another was waiting, drawing him away and creating its own illusory buffer between Kurt and whatever today had in store for him. And Kurt knew there was nothing he could do to prepare himself for whatever he would face today, so he surrendered willingly to each insistent pull. He was grateful.

*     *     *

_Night in the workroom, the big windows dark, lamplight reflecting Kurt’s body – a taller, stronger body, heavy with exhaustion – back at him. His hands trembled but he forced them still so he could see to finish yet another seam by the inadequate glow. He fought to keep the needle in focus but the monotony of bite and pull lulled him into a drifting stupor from which it was becoming harder and harder to drag himself away._

_From time to time the sound of muffled crying made its way to his ears from the other side of the door between the workroom and the private part of the house. Genaa hadn’t cried in front of him. She tried to hide her fear. It was her nature to be stoic, but she was as exhausted as Kurt and perhaps had forgotten how thin the walls were. Or the fact that Kurt was still awake on the other side of the door._

_His eyelids fell closed and he forced them open again. He longed for his bed. But there was such a pile of work yet to be done and with Master Neric stricken Kurt was the only one who could do it. He was going to finish their orders, on time, and to the master’s exacting standards. It was all he had._

_A knock sounded on the door, startling open the eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed again. The door swung inward and Genaa’s face appeared in the crack. She was younger than her husband, and had never looked old, but tonight her kind face was deeply lined and her red-rimmed eyes betrayed her emotions. Still she smiled when she saw Kurt on his bench holding his work._

_“Go to bed, Kurt. You look like you’re ready to drop.”_

_“How is he?” Kurt asked._

_Her lips pressed tight. “The same. The healer’s gone now. He’ll be back in the morning. You should go up. That will keep until tomorrow.”_

_“I just want to get a few more done. I don’t want him to have a pile to come back to when he’s . . .” Kurt couldn’t bring himself to finish. He could see in Genaa’s eyes that she knew as well as he did Master Neric would never pick up a needle again._

_“You should go to bed too,” Kurt told her. “You need rest.”_

_She smiled again, but it looked as pale and sickly as Kurt felt. She came into the room and fell heavily onto Master Neric’s bench, across the wide work table from Kurt._

_“Cale’s going to come back after the council meeting. I’ll go to bed once he’s here. I don’t want to leave Neric alone too long.”_

_Kurt nodded, and lowered his eyes to his work again. The seam was easier to face than the truth in Genaa’s eyes._

_“He was so proud of you. You know that, don’t you?”_

_Tears – his first – blurred the fabric but he blinked them away before they could fall._

_“He told me once that of all the beautiful things he’s ever made, his greatest legacy to the world would be you. And the apprentices you’ll train someday. He said there were two reasons the gods brought him here to Pluna. To fall in love with me and to give you a master equal to your talent. And I couldn’t tell you which of the two made him happier.”_

_This time the tears wouldn’t be banished; they ran down his face and Kurt set the garment aside before it could be spattered. He scrubbed at his wet cheeks. He couldn’t look at Genaa. If he did, he might never stop crying. “I don’t know what I would have done without him,” he said. “He saved my life.”_

_“I know the feeling. We were lucky, you and I.”_

_Genaa got up with a sigh and turned to go but she stopped in the doorway. “Kurt?”_

_He was still crying, but he had no choice but to look at her._

_“People will understand if the work doesn’t get done on time. Go to sleep.”_

_“Just a few more minutes.” It came out as a plea, like a child begging for one last story at bedtime. “I have to put everything right for tomorrow. Then I’ll go.”_

_She nodded. “I’m going to make some tea. I’ll leave a cup on the sideboard for you. I expect you to drink it while it’s hot.”_

_“I will,” he promised._

_But he didn’t keep his promise. One seam led to another, and another, and another. Helplessness and fear joined forces to keep Kurt’s hands moving. At some point his brain dimly registered a male voice. His heart leapt for the briefest second before he realized that it must be Cale, slipping in through the back door. For the first time in his life he welcomed the presence of the tailor’s son, especially when he heard the staircase creak as Genaa climbed to her bedroom. There was no doubt in his mind that Cale was only here because it would look bad if he wasn’t, but just having him in the house would comfort Genaa and give her a respite, and Kurt was gladdened by it._

_He sewed until the clock struck two, startling him out of the trance of bite, break, push, pull. He knew he had to sleep. He was bone-tired, despite the terrified noises in his head._

_He cleaned up carefully. Because he couldn’t bear not to, he threaded needles that would never be used and anchored them in Master Neric’s pincushion. He blew out the work lamp and watched its smoke curl up and disappear into the dark near the ceiling. Then he took the smaller lamp and carried it back into the kitchen._

_The cup of tea was waiting on the sideboard, next to a single flickering candle. There was no sound from the sitting room, where they’d made a makeshift bed for Master Neric after he’d fallen unconscious. Kurt hoped that Cale was still there. It would be just like him to sneak out when his mother thought he was keeping watch._

_He picked up the cup. The tea had gone cold and he could have simply dumped it down the basin but the thoughtfulness of Genaa’s gesture, caring for him even as her own world was falling apart, was something Kurt could never ignore. He took it and the lamp to the table. He would drink it for her sake then go and lie in his bed and watch night shadows play across his ceiling. He felt too frightened to sleep, no matter how tired he was._

_He flopped into a chair and lifted the cup in fingers that shook with fatigue. The tea swirled and tilted dangerously close to the rim and he had to steady it with his other hand. It was cold, as he’d expected, and oddly bitter and as he forced it down in several deep draughts it left an unpleasant grit on his tongue. He suspected Genaa had put one of her special herbs in it. Something to help him sleep. It would be just like her._

_The ticking of the clock from the workroom grew louder. Its monotonous drone echoed inside Kurt’s brain and he forced his eyes open – when had he dropped his head to the table? – and righted the cup, which lay on its side, trickling dregs onto the polished wood. His body felt heavy as lead as he pushed himself up and made for the stairs._

_He had just reached the second floor landing when his knees buckled and he fell hard onto the steps. The solid things around him began to move in a subtle swirling that made up down and left right. He tried to reach for the railing but there were three of them floating in front of him so he closed his eyes and moved by feel alone, pulling himself upright and dragging one foot after the other. Dimly, from somewhere far away, he heard the sound of a door opening, or closing, or maybe both. Something was wrong, he realized belatedly, his legs were too heavy; he felt like he was slogging through quicksand one sucking, dragging step after another. He was being pulled irresistibly downward. Whatever had been in that tea wasn’t one of Genaa’s gentle herbs. Panic spiked his belly and it felt so strange to be frightened while his heart beat slow and steady and his breath slipped easily in long inhales and exhales. He should run, he thought, but he could no more run than fly. He fell again, with a thump, and crawled the last few steps to his garret chamber. The bed was miles away, he knew he couldn’t reach it. He heard a tread on the steps so far below him, a world away, and he tried to cry out for help but no sound came from his throat. Everything was moving; the floor undulated like ocean waves that roared in his ears, surging him forward then pulling him back. The tread on the stairs came closer, louder, it pounded like a heartbeat, like the deathly tread of the Render and Kurt fought the black void that was spiraling behind his eyes with everything he had but the blackness swallowed him up anyhow, pulling him down into an endless nothingness . . ._

*     *     *

Pain again, in his hands this time, and he forced them open. The cushion he’d been crushing fell to his lap then rolled onto the floor. The crackle of the fire was the only sound in the room, but Kurt’s ears were still ringing with the echo of his memory.

He’d fought so hard to stay awake. Last night in bed, with Sebastian warm and naked alongside him, he’d battled valiantly because he’d wanted to hold on to every moment of their one perfect night together. But Sebastian’s kisses had been like a drug absorbed through his pores each time soft lips had brushed his cheeks, his eyelids, the corners of his mouth, and his own willing lips. Every gentle touch had severed another line anchoring Kurt to the present moment until eventually the only thing holding him was Sebastian himself. But Sebastian was drifting too, they were floating away together, or so Kurt had thought, until he woke up alone, again, with all trace of his nighttime visitor gone. Again.

He’d thought, as he lay on the floor of his room the night he’d been taken, that he was dying. He’d thought that Cale had poisoned his tea, just to be sure, just in case Master Neric had decided to leave Kurt something of value. And Kurt had wished so many times in the intervening months that he’d been right. Death would have been better than the mockery of a life he’d been condemned to. But a dead journeyman tailor was worth a great deal less than a live, naked, cock-sucking slut, he supposed, and Cale was just the kind of person to wring the utmost advantage out of any situation. Kurt stroked the cushion he’d been strangling. It was infuriating, really. As cocksure and arrogant as any duke but then he could strip it away and lay himself bare; so strong and real but ephemeral as mist, always evaporating in the morning sun . . .

No, no he was thinking about Cale, not Sebastian, wasn’t he? Kurt pressed his palms to his eyes and watched colors dance behind his eyelids. He let his inner gaze follow the drifting spirals that spread in dizzy kaleidoscope patterns.

Maybe Sebastian _was_ mist. Maybe he was something Kurt had made up in his own head, the product of a deteriorating and desperate mind. He’d never seen Sebastian outside of his room, had he? He struggled to remember. Others had talked about him, he was sure of that, but maybe he’d made that up too. Maybe none of this was happening and he was still lying on the floor in his garret room, his brain slowly dying from the poison in his tea. The colors behind his eyelids spun and he began to spin with them, turning . . . turning.

*     *     *

_The floor was spinning. It lurched and heaved and Kurt grappled desperately for something to hold onto but his fingers found only floor, cold floor covered with something loose and rough, floor that wasn’t his room at all. He pressed his hands flat, forced his eyes open but vision only made the spinning worse. Dark walls, dim light, that was all he could register before his stomach turned upside down with the room and he retched weakly, coughed, wrapped his arms around his throbbing head and curled tight around himself to try to stop the nauseating motion._

_He was cold. He was so cold because he was naked, he realized as his brain inched its way toward consciousness. Naked on a floor covered with straw. Naked in the cold and dark and . . ._

*     *     *

. . . no he didn’t want that memory, anything but that but he was trapped now and it refused to let go . . .

*     *     *

 . . . _on a freezing stone floor with nothing to cover himself. He was afraid to move but he knew he must, he had to think, everything was terribly, terribly wrong and he had to understand, to find some kind of sense in the impossibility of it all. He pushed himself to his hands and knees, retched again but stayed up this time, and breathed. The cold helped; the air was sharp in his lungs and his head was clearing now, the pain receded to a dull throb at the base of his skull and the room slowed until he couldn’t feel any motion at all. He opened one eye, and then when everything stayed solidly in place, the other._

_A wall rose in front of him built of massive stones, like the foundations of some great castle. They were dark, and Kurt suspected that if he touched them he’d find them wet. Wan light came from somewhere, a window, high up in the wall, a narrow slit covered with bars. He craned his neck to see it. It hurt to move but he forced himself to look, to turn and take in the whole room. The whole cell, for now he saw that that was what it was. There was a door, heavy wood banded with metal, with its own barred window. And nothing else. Just dirty straw and himself, naked and shivering._

_A harsh jangling and scraping came from beyond the door and Kurt shrank back instinctively into the farthest corner of the cell against the wet stones. He pulled at the straw but it couldn’t cover his nakedness so he curled his knees up and hugged them tight. With the scrape of a bolt sliding through its hasp the door opened. Light flooded from the corridor, unexpected, it hurt his eyes and sent the pain blooming back throughout his head. He squinted against it. Silhouetted in the doorway was a man, enormous, Kurt could see that through his pain, with arms like tree trunks and a bald head that reflected the light._

_“Good. You’re awake.” The voice was deep and rasped like a hacksaw biting through iron._

_“Where am I? What’s going on?” Kurt heard himself ask, his own voice a frail imitation of his captor’s._

_“Oh no. You don’t ask questions. In fact, you don’t talk at all. On your feet, slut.”_

_Kurt didn’t move. He was still befuddled, still naked, he curled tighter around himself. It wasn’t defiance, just instinct._

_The bald man crossed the room in two long strides, fisted Kurt’s hair and pulled. Pain exploded, Kurt screamed, and when the claxons stopped ringing in his ears he found himself on his feet, cringing against the wall, his hands cupping his genitals to try to cover himself._

_“Hands behind your back slut,” the man barked._

_Anger flared, unexpected, sharp and sudden like the pain in his head. It wasn’t the last time he would feel it, not by a long shot, but it was the last time he would express it so openly._

_“Fuck you!” he shouted without thinking, words he’d never before spoken out loud._

_The man moved so quickly that Kurt was on the floor gagging again with the copper taste of blood sharp in his mouth before he even realized he’d been hit. His captor followed him down and reached for him and a different kind of pain stabbed through his guts as his balls were crushed violently in one massive hand. Kurt's scream came out as a gurgle and he heaved again, retching weakly into the straw until the hand released him and he collapsed._

_“Quint!” his captor hollered in the direction of the door. “This one thinks he can defy his betters. Bring me the big strap.”_

_Another man appeared, blurry beyond Kurt's tears, a slightly smaller, hairier version of the first. He held a wide strip of leather which he placed in the other’s outstretched hand. The bald man cracked the strap in the air, leaving a bright, stinging sound hanging between them. Kurt flinched, and his captor’s mouth split in a grin that cut his face like a hatchet blade._

_“Close the door, Quint,” he commanded. Then he turned on Kurt, brandishing both the strap and that feral grin. “This is going to be fun.”_

_The light and any hope of escape slowly faded as the door swung its wide arc and finally fell shut with a slam . . ._

*     *     *

_Slam!_

Kurt’s eyes flew open and he would have cried out if there had been room for air to escape past his heart in his throat. The image of his burly captor – Fell had been his name – floated in front of him in all his avid sadism, but there was someone behind him, misty and misshapen but all too real, standing between Kurt and the door to the outer corridor. Kurt’s heart slid back into its proper place and the tension drained from his body so completely that he had to press his hands to the floor to keep from falling over. It was surprising yet not. He’d been on the edge for so long that to have the moment finally arrive was almost a relief.

Gavin wasn’t smiling like the Fell shadow was, but both sets of eyes had the same dangerous glitter, reflecting knife blades of light in all directions. Kurt tried to blink away the remnants of his memory. He needed to know what was real and what wasn’t. But then Gavin moved forward, through and past the shade of Fell, forward until he was standing over Kurt and staring down at him.

Kurt leaned on his hands and waited to feel fear, but there was only calm as he watched the memory of Fell and his strap fade into wispy nothingness. The more Fell dissolved, the more solid Gavin seemed to become. Kurt should pull himself up to kneel properly. He knew his disobedience would only make his ultimate fate worse. This was it. It had to be. He hadn’t even seen Gavin for days. His sudden appearance, his flashing eyes, could only mean that this was the moment Kurt’s fate would be pronounced. He should pull himself up but his body was beyond his control. It kept him cringing and low. A smaller target, perhaps. Kurt didn’t know.

Gavin, for some reason Kurt didn’t have the energy to try to understand, waited. He stood and looked at Kurt, threateningly close but silent. The tension between them crackled louder than the fire burning in the hearth but still the duke didn’t move or speak. He stood there like a statue until Kurt finally summoned up the energy to straighten his back and kneel up the way he’d been taught at the end of that vicious strap. But even then Gavin remained silent, waiting, until Kurt, with nothing left to attempt, turned his face upward to gaze at the duke with eyes he was terribly afraid were pleading.

That seemed to be the signal Gavin was waiting for. The corners of his heavy mouth twisted up in a sneering smile. “You can go,” he said, and turned for his bedchamber.

Aghast, appalled, Kurt watched him retreat across the room and reach for the chamber door latch.

“Wait!” The sound burst from Kurt’s chest without asking permission and his heart gave a thrilled flutter, leaving him dizzy.

Gavin, inexplicably, obeyed. He stood still, but he didn’t turn around.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Kurt heard himself beg. “For the Maker’s sake, just do it, whatever it is! Beat me, torture me, kill me if that’s what you want, but I can’t take it . . . the waiting . . . I can’t . . .” Kurt’s hands fisted the cushions around him, beating at them in time with his words. He was begging for his own doom, he knew, and he despaired at his own stupidity but he had nothing, nothing left. “I can’t take it,” he said again, barely more than a whisper.

For another long moment Gavin was still, then he continued as if he’d never stopped, through his bedroom door, pulling it closed behind him.

Kurt fell forward, boneless as a marionette with cut strings. His muscles trembled and he panted heavily, as if his gesture had been physical instead of vocal. As if he’d run at the duke and battered him into the door. His muscles trembled but his heart was calm and still. His brain felt heavy and blank. With a detached kind of clarity he realized that his penis flopped against his thighs, not the tiniest bit hard despite the looming threat of its master.

Sebastian, he thought. Sebastian couldn’t save him, but he’d promised Kurt answers and with his world turned inside out those answers were Kurt’s only hope of figuring out what the fuck was happening. He climbed to his feet and leaned against the wall until his legs felt slightly more reliable than soggy noodles. Just a few steps, out the door, to his room, wait for Sebastian. Real or imaginary, Sebastian was Kurt’s last hope.

He tripped the latch for the secret door and slipped into the empty corridor, but habit or inattention took him past his room and he found himself on the steps heading down, as he had so many times before, to the spring room. He didn’t need water tonight; he wasn’t hard. He hadn’t been hard since Sebastian had taken him over the edge last night. Today had been filled with just as many emotions as yesterday but Kurt’s penis didn’t seem to have noticed and his balls swung loose and soft as he walked. He let his feet take him to the room with the gurgling spring. He took down a bucket, just as always, and filled it with icy water that he had no use for.

“. . . pathetic deviant! Every time he comes he’s worse! It’s insufferable!”

Kurt cringed in the doorway of the spring room. He hadn’t heard the voice on his way down, but now it rang loud enough to discern over the splash of the water into the stone basin. Cautiously he peeked out into the hallway.

One door was open – just a little way beyond the turn to the stairs. It might be the kitchen, or the big room where the servants ate their meals together. Either way, he was sure he could make it to the steps without being seen. Not that there was anything wrong with being seen – he made this trip every day, passing pages and maids and manservants all along the way.

“ _Nothing shabby,_ he says! _Make sure they’re suitable!_ ”

Kurt’s breath caught. It was Reginald. Talking to someone about Sebastian, mocking his words. “Maybe he’d like me to get him a dress – then he could use him and still feel properly like a man.”

“Well now you’ve lost me.” A female voice this time, and one Kurt easily recognized. This was Mary the kitchen-keeper. “Who’s getting a dress for who?”

Kurt’s eyes darted around the still-empty corridor. The door to the room the two servants were in was swung wide open, almost flush against the wall. He dashed for it, bucket in hand, and slipped between it and the wall, hiding in its narrow shadow.

“Sent to the village like a common peasant – to a shop! Oh no, nothing shabby. Nothing’s too good for him now!”

“For Sebastian?” Mary asked, and Kurt could hear frustrated confusion in her voice.

“No, not for _Sebastian._ For the fucking slut!”

The air in Kurt’s chest congealed into something cold and solid and suddenly claxon bells were ringing in his ears and he was going to die here, naked, holding a bucket of water, because he couldn’t make his lungs work. The hand not holding the water curled into a fist. The world began to go gray before his belly finally unclenched and he sucked in a breath. His legs were shaking again. His toes were wet and cold. His penis was still limp as dead eel. And Reginald was still complaining.

“. . . why not? Why the fuck not? Nobody said it was a secret. Everyone will know soon enough.”

“What will everyone know?”

Slowly, achingly slowly Kurt lowered the bucket of water to the floor. He wasn’t going anywhere, not now, not until he knew everything Reginald had to say. He didn’t care who might find him here. He needed, desperately needed, to know.

But Reginald, despite his previous assurance, was suddenly silent, as if he didn’t quite dare to speak this thing that wasn’t a secret.

Luckily for Kurt, kitchen-keeper Mary wasn’t one to give up when her line had been baited. He heard the click of glass on glass. “Sit down,” Mary said gently. “Drink.” There was a long pause, and more clinking. “Now let’s try this again. Who’s buying a dress for who?”

“There’s no dress.” Reginald’s voice rasped unnaturally.  He grated out cough, as if he’d just gulped too much hard alcohol. Kurt sent a silent, trembling prayer of thanks to kitchen-keeper Mary. There was another long pause. Kurt could easily imagine the glare Mary must be giving the valet. When he spoke again it was on a slurring sigh. “Fuck it. It’s not a secret.”

“You said that before. What’s not a secret?” Mary wasn’t any better at concealing her impatience than Kurt would have been.

“They sent me to the village. Like some kind of errand boy. As if we don’t have _actual_ errand boys.”

“Who sent you? For what?”

“His grace of course. Sent me to buy clothes. In a shop!” Reginald spat it, sounding as horrified as if he’d been sent to a bordello.

“His grace is buying his clothes from a village shop? I find that hard to believe.”

“Not for himself. I told you before. The clothes are for the slut.”

The world around Kurt tilted, but he dug his fingers into the mortar between the stones and pulled it upright again. There was a long silence, followed by more clinking of glass. The stones behind Kurt’s bare back and ass were cold as ice but he pressed against them all the same. He would rather die than move now.

“And why,” Mary asked for him, “does the slut need clothes?”

“And that Sebastian! _Nothing shabby!_ Oh, yes sir, whatever _you_ say.” Reginald’s words slipped and bumped against each other in a verbal version of drunken reeling.

“Why does the slut need clothes?” Mary repeated, with an impatience in her voice that Kurt was sure he was projecting onto her.

“Because he’s leaving, obviously. He can’t very well go swanning around the countryside naked, can he?”

 _He’s leaving . . . leaving . . . leaving . . ._ it echoed in Kurt’s head, too loud with possibility, and he forced it quiet. He couldn’t afford to miss a word.

“You’re not making any sense, Reg. Where in the world would the slut have to go?”

 _With Sebastian!_ The words burst like fireworks in Kurt’s chest and his arms wrapped tight around his torso, holding himself still by sheer force of will. Was this what it had all been about? Had Sebastian found a way? Had some miracle happened – was that why Gavin had been so angry yet silent? Kurt’s heart was beating triple time, his entire existence hanging on Reginald’s next words.

“That’s the question isn’t it? And no one would believe it. I wouldn’t have believed it myself if I hadn’t had it from his grace’s own mouth.”

“Reg . . .” Mary’s voice was a threat and Kurt thanked the gods for it.

“Concordia City. That’s the fucking joke of it all. Our slut, at the high court of the realm.”

_What?_

“What?” Mary echoed Kurt’s brain.

“And me sent to dress him up for it.  Valet to most powerful duke in the east but let’s not worry about that, no. What use protocol when the sex slave needs to be clothed?”

Bitterness dragged heavy on Reginald’s words but Kurt didn’t care. Concordia City? His mouth hung open and his eyes shut tight. All his life he’d dreamed of the shining city by the sea, he didn’t understand how or why or what in world could be happening but hope blossomed like a tiny snowflower deep in his belly. Had Sebastian really . . . ?”

“Mother’s tits _why?!_ ” Mary’s voice and the bang and rustle that followed it broke through Kurt’s thoughts. He imagined her reaching across the table in frustration and shaking Reginald by his lapels. The mental picture made him want to giggle.

“Ah, yes, why indeed?” Reginald did giggle, a high drunken unpleasant sound. “It’s the why that almost makes being forced to trudge around shops all afternoon worth it. His grace is giving the slut away. To none other than the fucking Crown Prince of the realms. As a gift. He’s going and never coming back. The clothes are just for the journey. I’m sure Prince Harold’ll have him stripped and on his knees as soon as . . .”

Reginald’s voice was lost in the roaring torrent of water that filled Kurt’s ears. He grasped the door to try to hold himself upright as the color began to bleed from the surrounding hallway, transforming solid walls into empty outlines with blurred edges, like a drawing done in soft charcoal by an indifferent artist.

Given away? Given away as a present? Kurt’s brain struggled to understand what Reginald had said. Was there no Sebastian’s miracle, then? No last-minute escape? Was he really to be sent to the high court of the land, to kneel in naked submission exactly as he did here – and worse – for the very people he’d dreamed about as he’d sewn endless rows under Master Neric’s watchful eye? The people whose acclaim he’d imagined would make every painful, painstaking hour worth it in the end? He couldn’t breathe; the water in his ears was running down his throat, leaving him gasping.

“. . . very unlikely.” Mary’s words began to work their way past the noise in Kurt’s head, faint at first, then more insistent. “I can’t believe his grace would ever let him . . . and how does he even know the prince wants a slut?”

Kurt sucked air into his lungs. He had to keep breathing. He had to know.

“I tell you, he told me so himself. A present, he said. For the prince’s affirmation. And as to your other question, I’d bet my last penny that woman had something to do with it.”

“Woman?” Mary’s voice was confused, but then she gasped. “Lady Montrose!”

_Eyes so sharp and blue, peering into Kurt’s soul, illuminating his secrets . . ._

“She was in his grace’s ear the whole time she was here.”

“You’re right,” Mary said. “And you should have seen her in the hall! She couldn’t take her eyes off the slut. Or her hands either. She was dead furious when his grace said she had to stop. Looked like she wanted to take a torch to the place.”

“She comes from the court,” Reginald said, his voice stronger now as he warmed to the subject. “She must have planted the idea in his head.”

“But what does she get out of it?”

“Who knows? Favor with the prince? Or maybe she thinks he’d be more willing to share than his grace was and she’ll finally get to have her way with him

Mary laughed. “I bet she’d love outfoxing his grace. You might be onto something there.”

“Either way, I don’t care,” Reg slurred. “It makes no difference to me.”

“Poor Reg,” Mary clucked, but she sounded more gloating than sympathetic. “You’re going to lose your plaything. Imagine our slut, at the royal court.”

“Sucking royal cock, more like. I just wish I could figure out how _he’s_ involved in all this.”

“The prince?”

“Sebastian,” Reginald spat. “He’s part of it, somehow. I know he is. I just can’t figure out the angle. Why would his grace let his steward – _under-_ steward – use his slut, especially if he’s planning to give him off to a royal prince? It doesn’t make sense.”

Kurt was still trembling, shuddering really, against the stone wall, but inside a stillness had come over him. The color was seeping back into his surroundings, but in his head everything was creeping gray fog. It didn’t make sense. It wouldn’t make sense – to anyone but Kurt himself. And sudden as a bolt of leftover lightning it all made sense to Kurt.

“Maybe,” Mary said, “he let Sebastian use him _because_ he’s giving him off to a royal prince.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“Well, we don’t know what kinds of deviance a prince might get up to. In a city. In the west? What if Sebastian is . . . preparing him somehow? In ways his grace has too much self-respect to consider?”

“You mean getting him ready for the ways the prince might want to use him?”

“The prince, Lady Montrose, whoever. All I know is, from the sounds coming out of that room at night, preparing is the least of what that steward was doing to the slut! Not that I listened. Disgusting, really, but loud enough to wake the dead. I was afraid for the . . .”

Kurt’s stomach somersaulted and he fled as fast as he could, not caring who might hear him go, before he could hear anymore. He left the voices behind as he pounded up the stairs but he couldn’t outrun Lady Montrose’s piercing eyes or the touch of Sebastian’s lips, or the shame and fear that pierced him like spears tearing holes in his flesh. He ran full out, the rattle of his own breath deafening in the quiet. Turning the corner at the top of the stairs he collided with someone – a lamplighter. The glancing blow sent the old man sprawling but Kurt by some miracle stayed on his feet, kept running, the servant’s angry shout another projectile pursuing him. He threw his door open and slammed it shut behind him, stumbled to his washing alcove and fell to his knees over the drain in the floor.

His guts twisted and heaved, retching bitter bile onto the iron grating. He hadn’t eaten all day, but his body didn’t care that his stomach was empty. It spasmed over and over, as if it could purge Kurt’s brain along with his belly. It was impossible. It couldn’t be possible. And yet he knew it was. He knew . . . he knew . . . and another violent convulsion propelled thin yellow bile onto the floor because he knew what Reginald didn’t. He knew what Sebastian had done.

_. . . what do you do in the village of Pluna . . .?_

_. . . a boy who likes a little pain with his pleasure . . ._

_. . . no one to come looking for you . . . ?_

_. . . little tailor . . ._

Still more spasms ripped through him, punctuating each memory with gall. Kurt pushed away the last, the worst memory, until his frantic retching slowed. Finally spent, he slumped to the side and curled in on himself.

_What’s your name?_

His feet were cold. Cold and wet, despite the fire that burned hot just beyond the alcove. He pushed himself up against the wall and opened his eyes. The bucket of water he didn’t remember picking up when he fled the kitchen corridor sat in a puddle in front of the fireplace. Kurt twisted onto his hands and knees and crawled to it. It was only half full now – his heart quaked at the idea of the mess he must have made running the halls with it, until he remembered that didn’t matter anymore. He dipped his hands into the icy liquid and dashed it hard against his face, scrubbing as if he could clean his memory as easily as his skin.

He was shaking still, but the nausea was passing. It left in its wake only darkness and dread. Kurt shuffled away from the puddle of water he crouched in, toward the bed; he pulled the blanket down and wrapped it binding-tight around his body.

_What’s your name?_

He understood now, too late, what Sebastian had done. Lady Montrose’s eyes floated in front of him as real as if she too was crouched in the tiny room. Eyes full of knowledge, and questions. Questions that Sebastian had asked him, later, digging, always digging, teasing past all of Kurt’s defenses to study him, like a bug under glass in the collection of some mad sorcerer. Uncovering his very deepest secrets, and so effortlessly. Kurt’s chest produced a bitter sound that was almost a laugh and he scooted around, putting his back to the door that had let Sebastian into his life. A few gentle touches, the promise of an orgasm, and he’d broken all his rules. He’d given Sebastian everything – everything Lady Montrose had wanted to know about him. He pulled the blanket over his head, blotting out the room, the bed, the puddled floor. But even that couldn’t muffle the realizations that battered at his brain. Things he’d said and things he’d fantasized about, all the details of his life he’d laid out before Sebastian like a gift. Everything Gavin had never been able to use against him had been found out, offered up so willingly, and tears began to fall now as Kurt held himself and rocked back and forth to the staccato rhythm of his breath under his blanket.

Sebastian. He wanted to reject it, to scream that it was impossible. _Sebastian_ , who he’d wrapped his naked body around, who he’d kissed until his lips burned with heat, until their breath had synchronized, in and out of each other’s mouths. Sebastian who’d whispered his name with the reverence of an invocation to the gods. Sebastian who Kurt had dared to dream might be his salvation – how could he have been the agent of his destruction? But the memories were inescapable. Sebastian drawing him out piece by tiny piece, so that his new master would know his every secret. Kurt shook his head hard, trying to dislodge the terrible knowledge, but it wouldn’t be banished. Sebastian always holding himself just out of reach, always in control, dominating Kurt, even last night when he pretended they would be equals, he’d still held Kurt down. He’d still teased him just as long as he wanted to and he had plumbed the depths of Kurt’s submission even as he pretended to give Kurt what he wanted.

_Would you stay like this? Hard and desperate for me? If I asked you to?_

And Kurt had answered, yes, yes he would, he’d shown Sebastian just how far he could be taken and how completely he could be controlled. He’d served himself up on a platter, and for what? Because he was lonely? Because he was afraid? He knew even as he thought them that both of those were wrong. The truth was even worse: Sebastian had enticed him with the chance to fulfill the secret fantasies that had enflamed Kurt’s desire since he’d known what desire was. And more, he’d taught Kurt that there was no shame or fear to the things he longed for. He’d given so much, and, it had seemed to Kurt, expected so little in return.

But those little things were everything. Kurt had let Sebastian in and now Gavin was sending him to the capital, to the city he’d dreamed of all his life, to kneel naked, to be used and abused, he could feel himself there even now, with the crown prince or the Montrose woman or whoever was using him at the moment barking commands at him – _Kurt! Kurt! Kurt!_ – he wouldn’t be able to hide from them, he couldn’t pull his mind away if they used his name, there would be no way to detach himself from the things they made him do in order to survive.

There would be no way to survive.

The tears stopped then, suddenly, like closing a tap, and he trembled no longer under his blanket, but despair spread cold and heavy from the pit of Kurt’s stomach out along his limbs. Despair fueled by the inescapable truth of the thought. There was no way to survive.

He lifted his head and let the blanket drop back down around his naked shoulders. He turned back to the door, facing it and the things that lay beyond it as squarely as he could. He took a deep breath and willed his babbling brain to quiet. He needed to be sure.

He’d always known it was possible. No one watched him at night. The castle was well-guarded and there was nowhere for him to go. He’d long ago found the staircase that led to the roof and although there were guards up there too, the men looked outward, watching for threats to the castle gates. It would be a simple thing – so simple, he’d always known it – to slip silently through the door and creep to the inner edge overlooking the courtyard. No one would see, no one would hear, not until his body broke on the stones three stories below. He’d always known. He’d kept the knowledge in a tiny dark secret place in his head, barely allowing himself to know that he knew, but there. A final, foolproof escape plan.

He sat down on the edge of his bed. His grip on the blanket softened and it fell again, to his waist this time, pooling on the mattress behind him. He felt so calm, all of a sudden. Why did he feel so calm? His mind should be rebelling against the very idea. After all, everything he’d done for six long months – every terrible, humiliating act he’d performed – had been born out of his unflagging determination to live and find his way through the nightmare that his life had become. But how could he – now? How could he kneel naked in the royal palace before a master who knew how he’d struggled over tiny stitches, how he’d stood crying beside his father’s grave until it was too dark to see the stone, how he’d fantasized about the miller’s apprentice tying him down and taking him . . .

No. No. Kurt stood and shoved the blanket away. It was too much. It was more than he could bear. There was no way to survive. They’d killed him already. All that was left was to climb, then fall.

He thought he should probably be crying. He felt like he was crying. A sucking hollow pressure pulled at his chest but his cheeks were dry. For the first time he was glad he didn’t believe there was an afterlife where his mother and father waited and watched. Would they be ashamed of him for giving up? Would they understand? _I tried. But they beat me in the end_. He stepped toward the door. He would do it now, quickly, before fear took hold of him . . .

The sharp knock on the door startled him so badly he cried out and his knees buckled, but he caught himself before he could fall. For a moment he was lost, his grip on himself slipped loose and he began to tremble again. By the second rap, though, he understood what he’d almost forgotten. Sebastian.

There was nowhere to hide in his tiny room, and nowhere to run, and Kurt knew that Sebastian wouldn’t go away if he didn’t answer. Not tonight. The only way out to the roof was through Sebastian, once again Sebastian was taking away his choices and destroying his chances and again Kurt’s emotions spun him around. He was suddenly, toweringly angry, filled with rage that blocked the breath in his throat and accelerated his heartbeat to a war drum’s beat in his ears. The edges of the room began to blur around him but the door was a single sharp point of light, and the hammering of Sebastian’s knuckles against it the only sound louder than his desperate heart.

“I know you’re in there,” the voice outside the door was muted, almost tired. “I’m not going away.”

Well fine then. If Sebastian was inescapable, Kurt would give him what he wanted. He turned and climbed onto the bed and reached up to tangle his wrists as tightly as he could in the rope hanging from the ceiling. What had been bondage before would be his anchor tonight. It would hold him fast while he endured these very last moments of his enslavement.

 _Fuck you,_ he silently told the door.

Sebastian waited longer than Kurt would have expected. That was fine, though, the pain of the rough rope biting his flesh kept Kurt’s anger front and center. He welcomed it. He wouldn’t cry; he refused to cry. Not tonight. Tonight he would survive one more time.

The turn of the door latch filled the room like a cry of pain. Sebastian’s face, when it appeared in the opening, was pinched tight, tense and exhausted. But it softened with surprise when he saw Kurt displayed on the bed with his hands caught up above his head. He didn’t speak, he simply stared at Kurt, running a restless hand through his hair, until he remembered to turn and close the door. The click was softer this time, as if he too had been startled by the violence of the first noise. His white shirt glowed too bright in the lamplight and when he turned back Kurt imagined he could see the green of his eyes in the light the shirt reflected.

“Kurt, what are you . . .”                       

Sebastian’s voice trailed off; his eyebrows came together and he sniffed the air, confused. His eyes roamed around the room then settled back on Kurt, all caution and concern. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Kurt wanted to laugh, but instead he tightened his grip on the rope and forced his eyes to meet Sebastian’s. Whatever Sebastian saw in his face changed his expression yet again, to something that might have been empathy but the anger inside Kurt yelled that it was only pity. He pressed his lips together to keep them from trembling.

“Kurt, please, talk to me.”

“Why?” It came out as a croak from a throat hoarse with vomiting and stifled emotion. “Why bother to pretend anymore?”

Sebastian’s eyes went wide. “Pretend?” He sounded so innocent, like he barely understood the word, and bile rose in Kurt’s throat again.

“This is what it’s always been about, I know that now. The slut. I’ve never been any more than a body for you to use while you peered into my head.” Kurt’s voice was hard and brittle as broken glass. “A little compensation for all your hard work. Well here I am. All yours. But I’m not going to help you anymore. Take what you want and leave me alone.”

Sebastian was good. He stared up at Kurt, his mouth dropped open and he looked . . . hurt. As if he was the one who’d suddenly found out that everything he’d believed was true, wasn’t. When he finally spoke, it was quiet and careful. “Kurt, please, just come down so we can talk.” He took another step closer. His hands raised between them, whether to plead or to ward Kurt couldn’t bother to figure out.

“Was it fun? Was it a game to you, screwing with my mind like that? Did I give you enough of a challenge or were you disappointed that I surrendered everything so easily?”

Kurt’s hands ached against the rough rope. Sebastian kept coming, one tiny step after another like a stable master easing up on a spooked stallion. His care made Kurt’s anger burn hotter.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you? I _know_ , Sebastian,” Kurt spit the name at him like the word hurt his mouth. “I know everything.”

“What –”

“I know about the Crown Prince, I _know_ what you did! I know what you’re going to do, I overheard them, do you understand? I know everything.”

Sebastian froze; fear and something more than fear dawned in his eyes. His hands between them turned upward, like he was supplicating before a deity. “Kurt, just come down and let me –”

But Kurt was beyond placating now. He was beyond caution and far, far beyond his own determination to simply survive this last encounter with Sebastian. His anger, all the rage he’d been holding onto for so, so long burned like a hundred suns and vaporized logic and resolve. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me? Do you even care? I can’t _live_ anymore. I can’t live! How can I let them send me to him, when he’ll know everything, where I come from and who I am and my _name_?” Tears were falling now; they blurred Sebastian’s shape in front of him but Kurt was too far gone to think of letting go of the rope and brushing them away.

“Send you to . . . ?” Sebastian stammered. “Kurt, what . . . ?”

“You’ve killed me! Do you understand that? Everything I lived through, everything I let them do to me so that I could live and you destroyed it all! Did you even think, for one second, what you were –”

When Sebastian moved it was lightning fast. He dashed across the room and caught at Kurt’s wrists, pulling at the rope that wrapped them. “Kurt, no, you have to listen –”

“Don’t touch me!” Kurt spat. He grasped at the rope but Sebastian pulled it free. It burned as it slid through his palms but Kurt ignored it. The fire inside him exploded in one final conflagration and he shoved at Sebastian’s encircling arms and kicked out with his knees. One landed a blow to Sebastian’s belly that doubled him over but he recovered so quickly, still trying to pull Kurt down from the bed.

“Just let me –”

“No! Don’t touch me!” Kurt yelled again. He was still crying but he shoved Sebastian backward, taking him by surprise and sending him reeling. All thoughts of roofs and escape and death fled Kurt’s head; he had no thought but to make Sebastian pay for everything everyone had ever done to him. He flew off the bed and tackled Sebastian, beating at his chest with his fists. Sebastian struggled to capture his wrists, but then he stepped in the puddle of water and went down hard, dragging Kurt with him onto the flagstones. Kurt rolled away but Sebastian was so fast; he caught Kurt’s arm, keeping him close while they scrabbled to their feet. Kurt backed away but Sebastian wouldn’t let go. He was pulled along, until Kurt was trapped between the wall and his bed.

“Kurt, I –”

“No!” Kurt pulled his arm free and clapped his hands over his ears. He didn’t want to hear – he couldn’t hear anything Sebastian had to say.

“You have to –”

“Fuck you!” Kurt screamed it, out loud, for the second time in his life. “Fuck you!” He pressed his hands harder against his ears and wrenched away from Sebastian’s restraining hands, turning to the wall, shutting him out. “Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” He shouted it as a denial, an accusation, a hopeless prayer to gods who’d never existed. Sebastian’s hands came down on his shoulders and that was it, he couldn’t take it anymore, he had to get away. He turned and attacked, slamming his shoulder against Sebastian’s solar plexus. They grappled, Sebastian trying to wrap his arms around Kurt’s body and hold him still while Kurt fought for his life, desperate to reach the door, shouting an endless litany of “Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck . . .”

And then something beautiful happened.

It was like falling, not down, but _into_. The room and Sebastian’s effort-contorted face receded, not dimming exactly, no, they drifted away from him until Kurt watched them through a kind of tunnel, bright and small at the end. He was surrounded by darkness but he wasn’t afraid. It welcomed him, like he was coming home. He might have worried that he was dying, but he could still see his own fists battering and the view twisted and turned as his body struggled to escape Sebastian’s grasp. He could see those things but there was no feeling at all. He was floating somewhere inside himself, he mused, not above or below but deeper. Wherever he was felt safe and warm with no sense of urgency and no buffeting emotions. And it was blessedly, mercifully, silent.

This must be it, he thought. His mind had finally snapped. Now that the dreaded event had arrived, he wondered why he’d fought against it for so long. At the end of the tunnel he could see Sebastian shouting something at him; the muscles in his shoulders and neck corded with the effort of trying to subdue the naked, hysterical boy in his arms. He could read his own name on those silent lips, the bottom one really was beautiful, Kurt was fleetingly sorry he wouldn’t get to taste it again.

The world at the end of the tunnel tipped sideways as the two men, still locked together, fell again onto the wet floor. As his body went down Kurt glimpsed the doorway, open now, and shocked faces sliding by in a blur. Then Sebastian was shouting not at him but above his head and wrapping him in something – his blanket – while Kurt’s own hands and feet pushed it away.

It was nice, really, this place where Kurt was. He could live this way, he thought, if he had to. Here in the silent darkness where he wouldn’t feel the things they did to him and couldn’t hear himself scream. If he could just find a way to close his inner eye to what was going on at the end of the tunnel, he would be perfectly fine. The Crown Prince of Concordia could do to him whatever he wanted and none of it would matter. Kurt was safe now, locked away inside himself.

Down at the end of the tunnel a cup had appeared, thrust into Sebastian’s hand by someone else, and Kurt watched, curious, as Sebastian held it up to Kurt’s own lips and tipped its contents into his mouth.

Then suddenly the world tilted again but not outside, it was the inner world this time. He felt it pulling him down, down, he _was_ falling now, flying along the tunnel and he wanted to reach out for purchase to stop his slide but he had no hands and he wanted to cry out a denial but he had left his voice behind with his body. _No, no I was safe. I was free! No!_ But the slide only sped up, hurtling him back toward the world he longed to leave. Nausea swept through him in long, bitter waves – how could it when there was no feeling here? – and his stomach lurched as he was slammed back into the naked body twisted in the blanket on the floor.

He hurt, everywhere, his palms were on fire and his throat ached. He was struggling, trying to push the blanket away because it wasn’t allowed – he was never to cover himself in front of anyone. But his movements dragged, like he was slogging through quicksand, he was too heavy, made of lead and the iron arms that circled his torso loosened as he stilled. His body lurched as Sebastian pulled him close, cradling his limp form. Someone was crying; he had no idea if it was him or Sebastian or maybe one of the pale faces at the door. The sound of his own harsh breathing filled Kurt’s ears but as stupor forced it to slow he could hear Sebastian above him, chanting hoarsely.

“. . . so fucking sorry, I didn’t know Kurt, I didn’t know I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry . . .”

He wanted to yell at Sebastian again for using his name in front of the people at the door, but everything was moving, the floor undulated like ocean waves and the sound of Sebastian’s voice began to stretch into a nonsensical drone. He surged forward and rolled back in a way he’d felt before, just once. He couldn’t believe it; he wanted to rage but he only had energy to turn his head and force his eyes open.

Sebastian’s face floated above him, doubled, then tripled, too many cheeks streaked wet with tears and twisted in a rictus of pain.

Kurt fought off the darkness long enough to whisper, “You drugged me.” The words slurred and dragged. “Bastard . . .”

Then his eyes fell closed and his head lolled in the crook of Sebastian’s elbow. There were hands . . . too many hands . . . lifting him, jostling, and he wanted to protest but the darkness wouldn’t let him.  There was nothing left to fight. It was over, and he had lost.

For the second time in his life, filled with terror at what was to come, he succumbed to benumbing oblivion.


	11. Chapter 11

The first time Kurt woke up his hands burned and his throat ached with thirst and he floated in the dark on a rolling sea on the softest boat in the world. Disembodied voices drifted around him. They pitched high like anguished wailing then dropped deep as faraway thunder. Men’s voices. Women’s. He wanted to call out for help but pain blocked his throat. He reached out, trailed his fingers in cool water, but when he scooped up a drink to ease his thirst it burned his palms and tasted like bitter tears. He fell back on cushions soft as clouds and tossed his head restlessly as the rise and fall of the voices tugged him back into a deep, silent nothing.

The second time Kurt work up, light shone through his closed eyes, turning the insides of his eyelids orange. His mouth was still dry and his hands still hurt and it was entirely possible he was still dreaming because he rested as before on the softest of beds but it wasn’t moving now, it had anchored on dry land presumably, and there were no voices tumbling incoherent acrobatics around his body. Still, experience had taught him caution. He kept his eyes firmly closed and reached out with his other senses.

His head didn’t hurt, not like the first time he’d been drugged. His throat and his hands, they hurt, and when he stretched his toes downward his sore muscles eloquently cried out the abuse they’d suffered in his struggle for freedom, but nothing spun or tilted. No nausea threatened. There was no dank smell of mildewed straw or damp stone. He smelled something though. It was a warm and teasingly familiar scent but he couldn’t place it without opening his eyes to look and he wasn’t ready to look.

He was warm this time, covered by a soft and heavy blanket. He wanted to be comforted by that. As a child he’d always felt safest snuggled deep in his bed. But he’d learned that comforts came with strings attached. He wouldn’t let himself be lulled.

If he strained his ears he could just make out the quiet crackle of a fire burning somewhere close by. And then in a sudden burst that was too loud because he was listening so intently, birdsong.

Cautiously, he cracked open one eye and, when no pain seared his head and nothing else catastrophic occurred, the other.

The sky was all wrong. It swirled above him in impossible shades of purple and red. He squinted, shook his head, rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands – avoiding his painful palms – until the colors resolved into a pattern he recognized. Paisley. Not the sky at all but a canopy of rich fabric and then he realized what he’d smelled. He was surrounded by fabric, heavy and brocaded, and when he let his eyes wander further the four carved posts rising around him pulled the picture together. He _was_ in a bed, a huge bed soft as eiderdown, made up with luxurious sheets and blankets tucked tight around his body, and hung with draperies gathered and tied at each post.

He’d never seen such a bed before, outside of Gavin’s chamber. On that terrifying thought Kurt cast his gaze wider and found that, though the room around him matched the opulence of the bed, it wasn’t the duke’s. It was a huge room, paneled in dark polished wood that gleamed in the morning sunlight. Long stretches of the walls were hung with tapestries where animals worked in thread of gold cavorted with impossibly beautiful nymphs and gently lecherous fauns. It was every bit as splendid as the Duke of Eastreach’s personal bedroom. Who could possibly have installed him here?

Lady Montrose’s face flashed before Kurt’s eyes but he pushed it and the fear it produced away and forced himself to continue his survey. He should take the opportunity, while he was alone, to learn as much as he could about his situation. Fear led to mistakes. Knowledge was power.

Far across the room from the foot of the bed the fire he’d heard burned under a mantle carved with roses and delicate vines. The floor was carpeted as richly as the bed was hung; a bright sunbeam illuminated the paisley pattern. Kurt’s eyes followed the sunbeam up to a huge window on the wall next to the bed. From his position he could see only sky, so he took the valiant step of levering himself up onto an elbow to look out.

The window faced east, like the one in his room, but its position was strange and off-center and so it took Kurt longer than it should have to realize that the towers he could see were as familiar as this grand room was strange. Whatever else had happened, he was still in Eastreach Castle.

He sat up further, thinking of taking a closer look, but movement made him aware of something constraining his legs and panic flashed through his body. He kicked out desperately – only to find he wasn’t bound at all. His sore muscles protested but his legs moved freely. He shoved the blanket away and stared down at his body, dumbfounded.

He was wearing clothes. His chest was bare but his legs were covered in a pair of soft, loose sleeping trousers dyed a dark hunter green. He stared and tried to make what he saw and what he felt come together in his head but he couldn’t. Legs, in pants, the most normal thing in the world but it wasn’t right; it wasn’t allowed and it felt wrong but the very wrongness of it squeezed his heart in a tightening fist and had him fighting back tears. He might have shoved the garment off right then and there but a new sound made him raise his eyes again and then trivial thoughts like forbidden clothing fled.

He wasn’t alone.

Kurt retreated, kicking backwards against the feather mattress until his back slammed into the headboard, before he managed to understand that his observer was only a child. A tiny boy not more than five years old sat against the far wall next to an ornate door, in a chair much too large for his body. He was dressed all in black and his bare feet dangled inches above the floor. His hands gripped the seat of the chair as if he needed to hold on to keep himself still. If his saucer-wide eyes were anything to judge by, he was just as alarmed by Kurt as Kurt was by him. Still, threats came in many forms, Kurt had learned, and he wrapped his arms tight around his knees as they appraised each other.

The boy broke first. “You woke up,” he squeaked.

Kurt nodded.

“I have to tell the master,” the boy said, just a bit louder. He released his death grip on the chair, scooted to the floor and began to wrestle with the door that he seemed far too small to budge.

“Wait . . .” Kurt tried to stop him but his voice stuck in his parched throat with a barely-there croak.

The child ignored his attempt. He managed to twist the knob and pull the door open far enough to slip his little body through the crack.

He could make a run for it, Kurt thought wildly. He wasn’t even naked. He could . . . but before he’d even finished the thought the door swung wider and someone else appeared in the opening, accompanied by a swish of heavy skirts. Kurt cringed back against the headboard again, away from the memory of Lady Montrose’s ice-blue silk in knife-sharp pleats. He pulled a pillow against his naked chest like the world’s prettiest but most inadequate shield.

“You _are_ awake. Well that’s a relief.”

Kurt stared for a full twenty seconds – his heart pulsing in his ears kept time for him – before he realized that she wasn’t Lady Montrose at all. No, this person couldn’t have been more different.

She was older than the lady, and her raven hair was shot through with strands of white and pinned in coiled braids around the crown of her head. Her dress was dyed a pretty blue, but even in his current state of anxiety Kurt’s expert eye could see that the fabric was simple, useful homespun, gently faded and covered by a sturdy white work apron. Her eyes were quite as blue and piercing as the lady’s had been, but where those had glinted with dangerous desire, this woman’s gaze was all compassion and kindness. She looked so genuinely concerned that Kurt almost – almost – relaxed his grip on his shielding pillow. But he reminded himself that he still didn’t have the first idea what was going on and stayed as he was, as far from the woman as he could get while still on the bed.

She held a pewter flagon in her hands and Kurt stared at it as she came forward into the room.

“Of course that great idiot had no idea how much tincture he’d given you,” she chattered on, coming closer. Kurt tried to push himself away as she advanced but the headboard hard behind him gave him nowhere to go. He was trapped. He could only watch helplessly as she perched on the end of the bed, still smiling like nothing at all could be wrong. “But you’ve barely slept longer than a normal night so I suppose he managed to stumble on the right thing. By pure dumb luck, I’m sure.”

He realized with a jolt that she was talking about Sebastian. He opened his mouth, but before he could force any words out she held the mug out in the space between them. “I’ve brought you some water. I’m sure you’re parched.”

He was more than parched; he was dying of thirst but Kurt gripped the pillow tighter between himself and what she offered. The woman seemed to understand and the warmth in her eyes drifted toward sadness.

“Of course you’ve no cause to trust me. But I promise it’s plain water. With just a bit of honey to soothe your throat. He told me how you were shouting. Go on and take it.”

Kurt stared at the cup. He could just see the water glistening temptingly below the rim. His mouth longed for it but he didn’t move to take it.

The woman sighed. “Come now. Do I look like a woman who’d participate in anything as nefarious as drugging a poor defenseless young man?”

She didn’t, but that only made Kurt more wary.

“Sebastian should have known better,” she went on. “If it helps, I’ve already given him a good piece of my mind about that. And everything else. But I fear it’ll do no good. He’s never quite mastered the art of thinking before he acts, that’s for certain. Here . . .” She turned her head so Kurt could see clearly as she raised the goblet to her own lips and tilted it. The light from the window illuminated the water as it trickled into her mouth. She swallowed deliberately, then held out the cup again. “You see? Just water. I promise.”

Kurt’s brain tried to come up with reasons to resist but the temptation was too strong. He let go of the pillow and reached a tentative hand toward the cup. The woman started to hand it to him but then paused and caught his hand in her free one, turning it up to stare at his palm.

“What have you done here?” she asked.

He tried to jerk away from her but she seemed to have anticipated that and held him in a gentle but inescapable grip. And when he looked down at his hand he forgot to be afraid of her touch. No wonder he hurt. A harsh red welt burned across his skin, a ragged, angry gash. Kurt opened his other hand and found an identical mark. He closed his eyes as memory washed through him: clinging to the rope, Sebastian trying to pull him away, kicking, screaming, consumed by fear and anger . . .

He opened his eyes to escape the vision. The woman was watching him, her mouth a thin, tight line. “I’ll find some salve for those,” she said. “There must be an apothecary somewhere in this godsforsaken place. Here. You drink.”

She pushed the goblet into his hands. It was heavy; he had to use both hands to take it from her and lift it to his mouth. It was water just as she’d promised, cool and fresh and barely sweet, and so soothing to his aching throat that he gulped at it greedily. But after just a few swallows, the woman put a hand on the base and tilted it back down. “Easy now. We don’t want it all coming back up again, do we? Just let that settle a bit.”

She took the mug and put it on the delicate table next to the bed. While Kurt was wincing at the prospect of water rings on the beautiful inlaid wood pattern, the woman stood up and fussed at the bedclothes, tucking them tight around him again. Kurt wanted to stop her – it was morning, he wasn’t sick. He should get up and do . . . what? His lack of knowledge made him dizzy and he shut his eyes against it.

“I’m going to find you something to eat,” the woman said as she tucked, “and I’d probably better chase down that nephew of mine. You gave the poor child quite a shock, you know.”

At the mention of the child anxiety flooded back into Kurt’s chest. He opened his eyes and caught the woman’s wrist before she could turn away from the bed. “The boy?” he croaked. “He said . . . the master . . .”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh! No! Never fear.” She patted at Kurt’s hand on her arm before slipping out of his grip. “He didn’t mean the duke. Goodness no! You won’t be seeing him again, and thank the merciful Mother for that.”

Kurt stared at her.

“The child’s a bit overwhelmed, you understand. He’s never been beyond the gates of Eastreach village before. I wouldn’t have brought him here but my sister was midwifing last night when Sebastian sent for me and I had no choice. Though I fear even if he wasn’t so overwhelmed, the rules of noble address would be quite beyond him, poor thing. He’s been calling everyone master, page or prince. Even you. And to be fair, ‘his royal highness’ is a lot of big words for such a tiny mouth, don’t you think?”

Kurt’s throat went dry and his brain fuzzed. “His royal highness?” A whisper was the most he could manage. “The Crown Prince?”

The woman’s dark eyebrows drew together over her puzzled eyes. She opened her mouth but a tap on the door interrupted whatever she planned to say. “Come,” she called out, without turning to see who exactly was coming.

Kurt turned. The quiet creak of the hinges pulled his attention to the door. Sebastian stood in the opening, and relief left Kurt breathless until he remembered why it shouldn’t.

“Ned said Kurt was awake.”

His voice was softer than Kurt was used to, and raspy around the edges, though not as hoarse as Kurt’s, and the sound of it wrapping around his name made Kurt’s belly flutter. He looked back at the woman, who still smiled at him with a look of fond exasperation. She rolled her eyes at Kurt, as if she expected him to understand why.

“That he is,” she said lightly.

“We should probably talk,” Sebastian said.

“Well that’s the first sensible thing you’ve said in hours,” the woman said, still not looking at Sebastian. “I rejoice to hear it.” She reached out to fluff the pillows behind Kurt’s back, giving him a wink as she did so, like they were both in on the same joke. Kurt wished that he knew what it was. When she finally turned away he pulled his discarded pillow shield into his lap and wrapped his arms around it tight.

The woman paused in the doorway and stared up at Sebastian. He towered over her, but she didn’t seem daunted by that in the least. She lifted an eyebrow, and Sebastian answered her with a twist of his lips and a short nod. A silent conversation that, like everything else, Kurt didn’t understand.

Apparently satisfied, she turned back to Kurt. “I won’t be long,” she said, as if that would reassure him. Then she gave Sebastian a little shove, pushing him farther into the room, and slipped out the door. The click of the latch echoed in the silence.

For the very first time, Kurt and Sebastian faced each other in the stark illumination of daylight.

Conflicting emotions filled Kurt’s head and his heart and he suspected he couldn’t have found his way through them if he’d had a map and compass. Sebastian looked . . . exhausted. And miserable. And as beautiful as ever, even without the flickering warmth of lamplight. He was almost otherworldly, standing in the path of the sunbeam that poured in through the huge window, surrounded by the whimsical woven scenes in the tapestries that hung around him. He wore the same simple white shirt and plain breeches he’d had on the night before but the shirt was untucked now, and rumpled, and there was a tear at one shoulder seam that Kurt didn’t remember seeing before. Had he done that? Had he fought hard enough to rip Sebastian’s clothes? He was sure he shouldn’t enjoy the possibility, but he enjoyed it anyhow.

Above the shirt’s collar the bruise Kurt had sucked into Sebastian’s neck was fading but still visible. Kurt’s eyes lingered on it until he managed to drag them upward.

In the bright light Sebastian’s eyes were more gray than green and the skin around them was pinched and shadowed purple underneath. He stood stock-still under Kurt’s gaze, as if he couldn’t imagine what to say any more than Kurt could. They regarded each other with the expanse of the great room between them and Kurt wanted to run to him and soothe the hurt that had left him looking so wretched, and he wanted to pick up the pewter mug and fling it at Sebastian’s head, and he wanted to burrow under the blankets and hide from whatever this new reality was going to be. He wished he’d been given a shirt to go with the sleeping trousers. He wished he was naked altogether. He felt too bare under Sebastian’s gaze, but at the same time too covered. Nothing made sense. Images flashed behind his eyes in a crazy, out-of-sequence jumble. Sebastians, so many Sebastians, and he had no idea which one, if any of them, was real.

When he opened his mouth he had no idea what was going to come out. His first words turned out to be the same as his last ones the night before.

“You drugged me.”

He hated how he sounded: scared, confused, despite the harsh rasp of his throat.

“I know,” Sebastian replied with a duck of his head. His voice was as tired as his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. You were hysterical and you kept talking about going to the roof and . . .” His shoulders lifted in a tiny, tentative motion that might have been a shrug. “I guess I panicked. I’m sorry.”

_I’m so fucking sorry Kurt . . ._

Kurt shook his head hard to silence the memory. “What’s the game?” he asked, suddenly desperately tired of not knowing. “I can’t figure it out. That woman, she said –”

“Game? No, Kurt, I told you last night . . .” Sebastian broke off and dismay clouded his handsome features. “Please tell me you remember. What I said last night?”

“You said . . .” Kurt tried to think. He’d been on the bed, holding the rope, Sebastian pulling him away, they shouted, they fell . . . he shook his head no.

Sebastian’s eyes closed. “Fuck,” he said, whisper soft.

“What am I supposed to remember,” Kurt demanded, with so much more authority than he felt.

When Sebastian’s eyes opened they were full of dismay and he held up his hands between them, open and placating as if he expected Kurt to fly at him in a rage yet again. “Okay,” he said, “the first thing you need to know is that you’re safe. You’re free, Kurt. You’re not a slave anymore. It’s all over.”

Kurt’s mind went blank and he stared at Sebastian. It was literally the last thing he’d expected to hear. And most certainly the last thing he could afford to let himself believe. “What? No,” he whispered. It was more of the game, he was sure, Sebastian still breaking him down.

“I swear it’s true.” Sebastian’s eyes begged him to believe.

“I heard them!” Kurt insisted. “I’m a present for the Crown Prince and that woman, she said he was here!”

“No, that’s what I –”

“She _said_ it!”  Kurt protested, and the fears of last night came rushing back to him undimmed. He couldn’t believe; he wouldn’t let himself. Hope was a brutal murderer and he closed his mind to it. “And Reginald said I was going to Concordia and that I was going to be –”

“It’s me, Kurt!” Sebastian’s shout echoed in the room, too loud, and drowned Kurt out. He took a step closer to the bed, pleading. “I told you last night. It’s me. I’m the Crown Prince.”

Kurt felt his face fall into stupefied shock. It was the only thing he felt. Everything from his chin down went numb as he stared at the haggard, barefoot boy in torn clothing who looked smaller and more frightened than anyone who’d just announced himself as royalty should.

“That’s impossible,” he whispered.

Unexpectedly, if anything could be expected in a situation like this, Sebastian laughed. It was a bitter, angry sound. “Impossible? You have no idea how many people I’ve tried to tell that the past two months. But I’m afraid it’s all too true. I’m the Crown Prince of Concordia.” He shrugged as he said it, lowering his eyes like a child confessing a sin, afraid that the punishment was going to be even worse than he’d imagined.

Kurt’s brain groped blindly, trying to understand. “No.” He closed his eyes and searched his memory. “I heard people talking. Different people, and not just when they knew I was listening. You’ve been here before. You . . . you told off that maid.”

“Maid?”

“And Reginald said – you were worse every time. Every time. How can you say –?”

“I can explain all of that.” Sebastian moved at last, pacing to the window to stare down into the courtyard. His body cast a long shadow across the foot of the bed. “Nobody here knows who I am. Except the duke and duchess.”

“No,” Kurt said again. It was preposterous and he wasn’t going to be sucked in again; he refused. “That’s insane. This is just another part of your plan, whatever it is.”

Sebastian just stared out the window.

“You expect me to believe that everyone in this whole place thinks you’re –”

“Sebastian Smythe. Under-steward of Greenway.”

“An entire castle full of people? No. Someone would know.”

Sebastian turned back to Kurt, but Kurt wished he hadn’t. The smile on his face was thin and sharp in a way that made Kurt’s guts twist. “Have _you_ ever seen a picture of King Harold’s second son? Well no one else has either. It’s not like they ever put my face on things. Before. Actually, there is a portrait of me here, hanging in the public gallery. But I was a year old when it was painted so I think I’m safe.”

“I’ve never been in the gallery,” Kurt heard himself say.

“Miranda Montrose gave me a scare, I will admit. I didn’t expect her to be here. And then my aunt and cousin – it’s funny when you think about it, how many people could have exposed me right when I wanted so much to stay hidden.”

Kurt could have applied many adjectives to the situation, but funny wasn’t one of them.

“I had to do some very creative lurking to avoid them. I can’t imagine their reactions to seeing Prince Harold like this.” He swept a hand to indicate his rough clothing, with a smile that didn’t come anywhere near his eyes.

“Harold,” Kurt murmured. Hearing it, he remembered so many people saying it. “So you’re not Sebastian at all. I told you my name and you didn’t even tell me yours?”

“No, no I am Sebastian.”

“You’re not making sense! What am I supposed to believe?”

Sebastian laughed again. Kurt wished he would stop. The sound was hard and unnerving and made it even more difficult to force his brain to function. “About a million years ago some soothsayer told one of my more gullible ancestors that our family would stay in power as long as Harold’s ass sat on the throne. I’m sure she put it more witchy-poetically than that, but that’s the gist. Everyone claims they don’t believe it but no one wants to take any chances. So anyone within spitting distance of the succession gets named Harold. Even some of the girls.” His eyes shifted to the window then back to Kurt. “None of us uses it, except officially. Imagine the chaos. I actually have four names. Harold Sebastian Alastair Maurice. My brother was Harold Daniel Alexander. My father –”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Kurt repeated. He had to make Sebastian stop talking. The sight of the boy he’d kissed and held and so many other things he didn’t dare think about talking so casually about the royal family made him feel like his head was going to explode. It was too much to accept. “Why would you come here and pretend to be something you’re not? Over and over again? What’s the point?”

Sebastian shrugged and turned back to the window. “I suppose the point is that my uncle is an idiot.”

Uncle? The bed tilted underneath Kurt. Gavin, the queen’s brother, Sebastian’s uncle, uncle of the Crown Prince, uncle of the future king of the realm and Kurt suddenly wished his brain would stop trying to understand because it was like looking over the edge of a cliff down into infinity.

When Kurt didn’t speak Sebastian turned away from the window just long enough to look at him. Maybe he was worried Kurt had passed out from shock. Finding him still upright in the bed he turned quickly back, like he couldn’t bear to look for more than a moment. He lifted his head, tossing his chin in the direction of the towers opposite their window. “This place may feel like a backwater void, but it’s actually one of the most important duchies in the realms. Definitely the most important one in the east. Strategically, it’s the key to keeping the eastern realm under control. It needs a duke who the old guard easterners trust, but one who’s also tied to the interests of the throne. That’s why my father married my mother. Nothing better than a family connection to buy loyalty. But when my grandfather died –”

“Your grandfather?” Kurt felt stupid for asking but his brain couldn’t keep up.

Sebastian glanced back at him again. “The old duke. Gavin’s father. And my mother’s.”

The old duke. The man who’d installed his sick valet in the room Kurt had slept in for the past six months. Sebastian’s grandfather. The bed took another gentle spin underneath him.

Sebastian finally moved away from the window and began to pace, aimlessly, like he had no idea where to go but he couldn’t bear to be still any longer. Kurt’s watched him, but the sunlight from the window had been in his eyes too long and bright bursts of color danced between him and Sebastian, making him seem even more remote and impossible.

“It was pretty obvious Gavin couldn’t manage a pig farm, let alone an important holding like this,” Sebastian said as he moved. “So the royal council decided to send someone from the court a couple of times a year to keep an eye on things. Make sure the tenants were happy and the place was running well. That the new duke wasn’t pocketing too much of the income. That he wasn’t going to lose the place to someone stronger or smarter who might not give a fuck about being related to the king of the realms. And a couple of years ago my father decided it was a perfect job for his idle, boy-chasing extra heir. He thought I needed to learn a little diplomacy. At the time I had no idea what the fucking point was.”

Kurt wanted him to stop talking. He needed it. Because the more Sebastian sounded like he was reciting the kind of civics lesson drilled into rich young men by their learned tutors, the harder it was to deny what Sebastian was trying to make him believe.

“My uncle may be an idiot,” Sebastian went on, oblivious to Kurt’s struggle, “but like most bullies he’s really more of a baby than little Ned out there. He bitched so much the council agreed to let him act like _he_ was the one doing the overseeing. Couldn’t let it be known the Duke of Eastreach needed a babysitter to manage his estate. The council’s emissary agreed to pose as the steward of Greenway. And when I took over, Sebastian Smythe, under-steward was born. As it turned out, he was one of the best things that ever happened to me. I never knew anonymity could be so – powerful. I thought I’d hate it, with no one to wait on me or treat me like I was used to. But when I was here I was free in way I’d never experienced before. I could do pretty much anything and nobody would care. Who pays any attention to a lowly under-steward? I’d have come twice as often if I could have found an excuse to do it.”

Kurt clutched the pillow to his chest. Sebastian stopped in the center of the room and faced Kurt like a convict waiting for a verdict. Silence reigned as they stared at each other. Kurt knew he should have questions, more questions, more doubts, but Sebastian’s words, so many words, rang too true for him to deny them.

“You’re the Crown Prince of Concordia?” His heart fluttered as he said it.

“In the flesh.” Then Sebastian drew himself up tall and bowed, a deep and courtly obeisance that didn’t at all match his torn clothes and bare feet. And as he rose Kurt could finally see it. The ease of his movement and his familiarity with the gesture was undeniable and as his long body straightened his eyes flashed and his chin lifted with a pride that felt perfectly genuine – the final pose in a ritual he’d performed since childhood. It was graceful and _regal_ and left Kurt breathless, in spite of himself, with the sheer romance of it.

Then it all fell away and he was Sebastian again, contrite and unsure, lit by a sunbeam.

A hundred questions jostled for supremacy in Kurt’s head. A hundred more than the untold number he’d had before. He shook his head and tried to focus on just one. “I don’t . . . why did any of it happen then? You’re the prince. You can do what you want. You could have rescued me. Why didn’t you rescue me? You could have set me free.”

Sebastian looked like he wanted to run away and hide. “It’s worse than that. You’ve been free all along.”

Kurt had to reach for the nearest bed post to hold himself upright, because his head was threatening to float away. “What?”

Sebastian tugged a hand through his hair, pulling it into unprincely disarray. “Slavery is illegal Kurt. In both realms. No matter what Gavin and the hardline easterners like him want to believe. He may have cowed everyone in this place into keeping quiet, but I’m a member of the royal family, representing the council. The minute I realized what was going on in that hall, you were free. Technically. I just didn’t bother telling you that.”

It was a confession, and Sebastian’s expression was already begging for forgiveness, but the sunspots in Kurt’s eyes made him seem far away and he couldn’t breathe because the words had stolen all the breath from his body. He turned away and pulled himself into a ball around his shielding pillow. The trousers wrapped around his legs suffocated him and the instinct to push them off and make himself properly naked was overwhelming. He buried his face in the soft fabric of the pillow and tried to breathe and to understand.

“Kurt, please, let me –”

“Why?” Kurt rasped. “Why –” He wanted to say more but there were so many _whys_ in his head that he couldn’t manage to single one of them out.

Sebastian sighed. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to explain this to you ever since I decided that I needed to explain it to you. And I still don’t even know where to start.”

“The beginning?” Kurt said, wondering what that could possibly be. He was further than ever from understanding how any of this could be happening to him.

The dark laugh filled the room again. Kurt lifted his head just far enough to see that Sebastian was at the window again, staring down. His palm pressed against the glass like a prisoner longing for escape. “The beginning?” He shrugged. “I suppose the beginning is – my brother died.” His voice was cold and flat, devoid of emotion.

There was a long silence. Kurt waited as long as he could before he broke it. “The – first Crown Prince.”

“Daniel,” Sebastian said, and his shoulders twitched.

“I don’t understand. What does he have to with any of this?”

Sebastian’s fingers moved, tracing a random pattern across the glass. It must be cold outside, Kurt thought. He could see crescents of condensation in the space where they’d rested before.

“You have to understand what it’s like to be a prince.” Sebastian said at last.

Kurt’s empty stomach twisted and he had to look away. “Please tell me this isn’t going to be a story about the burden of being royalty, because I honestly don’t think I can listen to that without throwing up.”

“No!” Sebastian said. But then he laughed. “Well, actually, yes. But you asked me why. This is why.”

Silence filled the room for long seconds before Kurt realized Sebastian was waiting for his permission to continue. “Go ahead,” he said. He’d come too far not to hear it all.

Sebastian turned his back to the window, facing Kurt. It was easier to look at him now that the sun had moved along in the sky. It didn’t hurt Kurt’s eyes quite as much.

“By the time I was thirteen I knew I was . . .” Sebastian trailed off, frowning.

“Reversed?” Kurt suggested.

The frown deepened. “Gods, I hate that word.”

“Why?”

“It means backward. It makes it sound like something’s wrong with us, like we need to be fixed.”

Even in Kurt’s nerve-stretched state, the _us_ and _we_ struck him, and he felt an echo of the shock he’d experienced when he’d first heard kitchen-keeper Mary talking about Sebastian’s nature. “There are worse words,” he said.

“Which doesn’t mean we should accept inadequate ones.”

“I still don’t know what this has to do with me,” Kurt said, but it was a token protest. Maybe he was getting used to the strange turns Sebastian’s story kept taking.

“I never even considered hiding it,” Sebastian said. “After all, ever since I was born all anyone ever told me was how special and important I was. Nothing about me could possibly be wrong or bad. And I certainly wasn’t about to pretend to be something I wasn’t. Not me, Sebastian, Prince of Concordia. I told everyone. My brother, my parents, tutors. I never took a minute to consider whether it could affect my family’s position – which it could have, no royal had ever . . . well, I was the perfect arrogant little shit. Pretty much dared them to try to tell me who I had to be.” He smiled. It was faint, but genuine this time. “But they didn’t. My parents accepted me, inconvenient sexual preferences and all. And once they did, well, everyone else had to, didn’t they? Or at least pretend they did. I guess it helped that I wasn’t the heir. It might have been different if it was Daniel.”

“How terrible for you. I completely see why it sucks to be a prince,” Kurt said. Nausea was rising as promised and he scooted to the edge of the bed and reached for the goblet of water to try to wash it down.

“That’s not what I’m trying to say,” Sebastian said. “People want to get close to a prince. A royal connection buys influence and favors. And what better way to connect than with sex? Once I was old enough – and honestly, even before I was old enough – you can’t imagine how many men offered to . . . suck my dick, or even let me fuck them. Men who’d never touched a penis other than their own. Who’d never wanted to.”

Kurt stared at him. He _couldn’t_ imagine it. It was hard enough for him to imagine a world where people simply acknowledged being reversed, let alone openly offered favors. The idea both frightened and fascinated him. His fingers held tight to the pewter mug; the cool metal soothed his palms. “So you couldn’t tell who genuinely wanted you?” he asked.

“I could, eventually, obviously. You can’t really make a cock react to something it doesn’t want to react to.”

Kurt wanted to laugh his own dark laugh at that. He’d spent six months learning how untrue that was.

“But I liked other things, too,” Sebastian went on. He stood still against the window but his eyes danced away from Kurt, flitting around the room, landing on each bright tapestry in turn. “The things we –” He stopped himself and shook his head. “The things I did, to you. The dominance and the control. The pain. And that kind of thing is a lot harder to fake. It doesn’t seem that way at first. Just a game, right? A little rope, some teasing, the occasional smack on the ass. Just moan a little, look excited. By the time he realizes he’s in way over his head, you’re naked in some compromising position and saying things that sound utterly ridiculous in the cold light of day.” He swallowed; Kurt could see his throat bob. “That’s not a thing you let happen more than once. Aside from the deep personal humiliation, there’s always the fear that the wrong person might talk. It’s one thing for everyone to know that the prince is reversed, but that he likes to torture men’s balls until they beg for mercy? Even I could figure out that would not reflect well on us.”

Kurt wanted to laugh at him again and mock his terrible royal life, but his head was too full of the image of himself begging for a mercy he didn’t really want, with his balls in Sebastian’s fist, sucking hard on the warm skin of Sebastian’s neck. His eyes sought the fading bruise and lingered on it until he managed to force them away.

“But I had a plan,” Sebastian said. “It was a good plan. All I had to do was wait,” his hand made another restless trip through his hair, “until Daniel was married, managed to spawn a couple of kids. They already had the bride picked out. All I needed was patience. One royal wedding, two mini heirs between me and the throne, how long could it take? A few years? And then I was going to disappear.” He breathed the last word, like a sigh of relief or a whisper of longing.

“I don’t understand,” Kurt said again. That seemed to be his theme today.

“Well, not really disappear. There are some conventions even I’m too well-trained to ignore completely. But I figured there had to be dozens of places I could go where nobody would have any idea who I was. Some little town somewhere, maybe in the south where it’s warm all the time, someplace where I could live my life and do what I wanted without having to worry about people wanting things from me, or risk accidentally threatening the political future of my entire family. I was so, so close.” He raised a hand and closed his fist tight, like he was snatching freedom out of the air. “It would have worked. I could have had a life.”

“But?” Kurt prompted, because Sebastian seemed to expect it.

Sebastian huffed another of those bitter laughs. It set Kurt’s teeth on edge. “But a pig squealed. And a horse that had carried my brother through a lifetime of crazy processions with cheering crowds and screaming babies and every fucking noise you can imagine, decided the squeal was a bolt-worthy danger. And instead of landing six inches ahead or behind, Daniel’s head bulls-eyed a rock the size of my fist.” He dropped his head back; Kurt heard it thump against the glass. “And I learned what a selfish asshole I really am.”

He stared at Kurt with piercing, haunted eyes. The desire to comfort him renewed itself in Kurt with double force, but he held fast to his pillow and listened. “You called me a bastard last night. Well you were right. I am. I sat by my brother’s bed and I held his hand and watched him take his last breaths and all I could think about was how incredibly fucked I was, for the rest of my life. My brother _died_ , and all I could see was my own life getting sucked right down into the void with him. Daniel was meant to be king. He was born for it and he wanted it. I used to tease him, you know. I used to call him King Harold the Great. He hated that, but he would have been. He would have made a wonderful king. But he’s gone. And I’m trapped.”

Sebastian’s pain was obvious and real and the emotions it inspired in Kurt’s chest scared him. He tried to draw on his anger and remember the betrayal he’d felt last night. Because whatever the truth, Sebastian had most definitely betrayed him. “There are worse things than being king,” he said, with the fervency of experience.

“Yes, well, like I said, selfish bastard. That girl who was supposed to marry my brother? They’ve already changed the names on the contracts. Nobody gives a shit which Prince Harold she gets. She was promised she’d be a queen and a queen she will be.”

Surprise jolted Kurt out of his own feelings. “But you’re –”

“Reversed, yes. Which doesn’t change the fact that duties must be performed. Lines of succession must continue. Heirs of the body and all that. Nobody cares that I’ll never love her or even want her. They only care that I fuck her once in a while. So that is what I will do. I’ll sit on a throne I don’t want and marry a woman I’ll never desire. And yes, I can find other people, men, to be with but in the end . . .” he shrugged and pulled once again at the tufted peaks of his hair. “Fucking isn’t everything. Even I know that. Someday I’m going to want . . . and where am I going to find someone willing to . . . when everything I do until the day I die will be a lie?”

He looked so genuinely miserable and Kurt’s instinct for compassion was strengthened by his own lifelong certainty that he would never find love, a certainty that had fueled so many of the choices he’d made in that room with Sebastian. But he pushed instinct aside yet again. He couldn’t afford to be soft now. He was the one who’d paid the price for Sebastian’s despair.

“So you’re destined for an emotionally unfulfilling life of luxury.” It came out more bitter than Kurt had intended. He took another drink from the goblet – at least the water soothed one of his hurts – and set it back on the inlaid table. “How does that end in you doing what you did to me?”

“They didn’t even want me to come this time. My father said I’m too valuable to risk now, going off alone, and my mother just didn’t want to let her only remaining child out of her sight. But I insisted. Which is a nice way of saying I threw a fit and threatened to run away and abdicate to my idiot cousin if they didn’t let me. I should have just stayed home. If I had –”

“If you had I’d still be a slave,” Kurt said, because fair was fair.

“No Kurt. Don’t you get it? If I had they would have sent some minister in my place who would have taken one look at you and sounded the alarm and saved you from Gavin’s clutches and who would most definitely _not_ have made you his personal sex slave.”

Or who might have taken one look at him, gone stiff, and negotiated his own deal with Gavin, Kurt thought. Sebastian apparently had more faith in human nature than Kurt could afford.

“I just needed one last chance to be nobody before I gave it all up. I was angry and grieving my brother and I had no idea how I was going to face the rest of my life. It’s not an excuse, but it is the reason. I wish I had a better one.” Sebastian rubbed at his forehead, as if he could wipe away the memories inside. “When I saw you in the great hall, naked, in front of all those people . . . you were so beautiful. And I know how wrong that is but it’s true. I could tell you hated it. Every cell in your body shouted that but there was this amazing dignity and grace, like even naked you were above them all. And gods help me but at that moment all I could see was everything I was giving up forever. I _wanted_ you, like I have never wanted anything in my life.”

And despite everything Kurt’s brain was wrestling with, those words sent a shiver up his spine.

“And I didn’t care that you hated it and I didn’t care that any reasonable person would have run through that hall and thrown a cloak over you and ended it right there. I knew it was wrong, but I told myself that I _deserved_ it.” Sebastian’s voice was all sarcasm, mocking himself. “Of course I did. After all I’d been through. Never mind what you’d been through. Somehow I managed not to dwell on that point. I told myself you’d been a slave for months and I was going to set you free after all so what difference would one more week matter, in the end? And maybe a part of me wanted to hurt someone else as much as I was hurting. Or maybe I just wanted to prove how ridiculous it is that someone like me could ever be king of the realms. Self-sabotage is turning out to be my specialty. Whatever it was, I wanted you so I took you.”

Kurt stared at him. Sebastian’s eyes were dark and full of pain but they didn’t falter under Kurt’s scrutiny. He stood still as a statue and let Kurt take his measure.

Kurt’s emotions tumbled and blew in fractured shards that he couldn’t assemble into any kind of coherent reaction. He saw himself, kneeling on the dais in the great hall, trembling under Lady Montrose’s manicured fingers. He heard Gavin’s words in his ears, _obey him as you would me_. He tried to understand that the young man facing him down from across the room, the one who’d strode into his tiny bedroom radiating brash confidence, was actually the future king of Concordia, but all he could see was the naked boy he’d held in his arms. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t shove the image out of his mind. The intimacy they’d shared – or seemed to share – was like a buffer between Kurt and the enormity of what Sebastian was confessing.

He’d wondered himself – was it only yesterday? – whether Sebastian was something he’d made up in his mind and now he realized that was true. He’d seen so many Sebastians since that first day and he had no way of knowing which of them, if any, was the real person standing in front of him. So many things had been done and said and Kurt struggled to understand them but he was too tired, or too stunned, or maybe still feeling some effect from the drug Sebastian had given him.

“The things you did . . .” The things flashed behind Kurt’s eyes, rapid fire. Two strangers facing each other in determined silence. The painful ecstasy of erupting in Sebastian’s seductive mouth. Offering his name, the only gift he had to give. Words, so many words, whispered between them, between kisses and gods, the kisses and touches in the flickering light. . . “How could you?”

“I made up a lot of excuses in my head,” Sebastian said. His voice was flat and far away, as if he’d used up all his energy on his explanation and now had none left to support him. “I told myself it was okay because I was going to make things better for you. And I came down on Gavin like the Render himself. I made him swear he wouldn’t touch you or use you or . . . hurt you in any way.”

“He didn’t listen to you,” Kurt said.

“I know.”

It hung between them as they looked at each other. The bruise Gavin had left on Kurt’s jaw. The come Sebastian had found smeared down his neck.

“But you didn’t stop,” Kurt said. The truth of it sat thick in his chest.

“I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop.” Sebastian came as close to the bed as he had so far, right up to the footboard where he wrapped his fingers around the wood and leaned in. “Something was happening to me. Something I could hardly understand.”

“To you?!”

“Yes! At first it was like I said. I just wanted to play. And control you – that way. But that first night you were so defiant, without saying a word and then I wanted to figure you out. I asked you questions and touched you and felt you respond. I got to hold your pleasure in my hands, mine, to give or take. Gods, you can’t even imagine the way it felt to drop you over that edge the first time. And before I knew it, it wasn’t a game anymore. It wasn’t supposed to go so far. I wasn’t supposed to feel . . .” He stopped himself and closed his eyes, shutting Kurt out.

“What?” Kurt practically begged Sebastian to go on. He’d already confessed to desire – was it love that Sebastian was so afraid to admit? It couldn’t be. It was the height of absurdity to think that a royal prince could have fallen in love with someone like him. He couldn’t imagine it and he didn’t want it because the very thought only made Sebastian’s betrayal feel more bitter. Yet it suddenly seemed crucial to Kurt to understand what Sebastian had experienced. His own feelings were an impossible labyrinth; maybe Sebastian’s could be the key to finding his way through.

Sebastian scrubbed at his cheeks as if he was wiping tears but when he opened his eyes they were dry. “I don’t even know how to explain it to you. It sounds so wrong. It _was_ wrong, obviously, but something happened. Inside me.”

“What?” Kurt asked again.

“You were nothing I’d expected you to be. The way you looked at me. How your voice sounded when you told me your name. I’ll never forget that. You opened yourself to me and it felt like we were together and doing these amazing things with each other. I just kept telling myself to take the week. Just give us that time.” He laughed, and Kurt’s hands clenched the pillow against the sound. “That’s actually how I said it to myself. Us. And I all but assaulted Gavin. He didn’t touch you after that time, did he?”

The pain in Kurt’s chest was becoming more acute. “No,” he said, “he didn’t touch me.”

Sebastian, as always, heard the thing Kurt left unspoken. “What? What did he do?”

Kurt shrugged, like it didn’t matter. Like he could ignore the pressure threatening to burst his chest. “He just . . . terrified me. He said he was going to punish me – worse than ever before. And I believed him. All the rules I broke with you . . .” his sore throat tightened and he had to swallow hard. “I thought he was going to kill me. Or break me. I kept waiting for that moment but then he didn’t do anything. He left it hanging over my head and he would just stare at me like he was waiting for the exact right moment to rip me apart.” The words came in gasps, as the tide of emotion finally breached Kurt’s detachment.

Sebastian looked horrified. He reached a hand out toward Kurt – his fingers trembled – but snatched it back like the very air burned his skin. “Gods, Kurt, I –”

“You should have known! You knew him well enough – you should have known he would never stop trying to hurt me!”

“You’re right! I should have. I did. I didn’t want to see any of it because this thing was happening inside of me and I couldn’t bear . . .” he broke off and turned toward the window again, hiding, denying.

“What?!” Kurt insisted. “What was happening?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

Kurt surged up onto his knees on the bed, clutching the pillow to his bare chest. “Maybe it matters to me! Maybe I need to know to make some kind of sense out of all this.”

“It wasn’t real, Kurt. None of it was real.” Sebastian’s voice was bleak and empty as the Render’s void.

“What was happening to you?” Kurt made it a command, and his voice pulled Sebastian back from the window. The sunlight behind him threw his face into shadow but Kurt could see the anguish in his eyes.

“The way you looked at me,” Sebastian said again. “With so much trust. Not at first, but eventually. You looked at me like I made you feel safe. Like I was wonderful and perfect. _Me_. When I was in that room with you it was like everything else went away. I didn’t think about losing my brother or how terrible my life was. All I cared about was you. Even during the day, when we weren’t together, I could barely remember how lost I’d felt before. It just kept fading further and further away. It was like . . .”

“What?” Kurt said yet again, breathlessly.

“I think you were . . . healing me. I know that sounds crazy but you made me stop thinking about myself. I didn’t have room inside me for anything but you.”

The words left Kurt stunned and he almost, almost told Sebastian that he too had been healed by their time together, but he pressed his mouth into his pillow and kept still, because he couldn’t untangle the ways Sebastian had healed him from the ways he’d broken him.

“But even that’s a lie,” Sebastian said, shaking his head, “because if I _had_ been thinking about you I would have ended it. Gods, Kurt, it’s such a fucking mess.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me the truth? Once you knew it was more than what you’d thought?”

“Because I knew if I told you the truth it would be over. Be honest, Kurt. What if I had told you? After that night that I hurt you or after I teased you and didn’t let you come? What if I told you, oh, by the way, I’m really a prince who could have freed you at any time but I decided to use you instead, just like Gavin?”

“Not like Gavin, no.” It was suddenly important to Kurt to make the distinction. Because he’d been changed too, in that room with Sebastian, in important ways that he wasn’t going to deny. “At least you saw me as a person.”

“That’s what makes it worse!” Sebastian practically shouted, frustration singing from every line of his body. “You were never more than an object to him. But I _saw_ you, and I valued you and I still did what I did. I still lied to you and took what I wanted from you. And if I had told you, you would have done exactly what you did last night. You would have hated me. It would have been over. And I couldn’t stand that. I kept thinking, what if . . .” He broke off and pressed the heels of his hands hard against his eyes.

“Tell me,” Kurt insisted.

Sebastian took his hands away. His eyes were even redder now than they’d been before. “What if we were meant for each other?” he murmured. He looked ashamed to even speak it out loud. “What if the gods had planned for us to be together? What if you were the person I didn’t even know I was looking for yet and I destroyed any chance we had because I couldn’t see past my dick and my own self-pity? That’s what kept me coming back when I knew I shouldn’t. I kept thinking – this is the last chance I’ll ever have to look at him. Touch him. See the desire in his eyes when I do.” His eyes pleaded with Kurt. Light sparkled in them as if they were wet, but no tears fell. “But now I know what I didn’t understand then. None of it was real.”

It was the second time Sebastian had said that and it stuck in Kurt’s belly like a lump of iron, heavy with meaning he couldn’t make sense of. Reality was no longer a black and white concept for him. He’d been changed in that room too. He’d cast off Gavin’s slut and rediscovered his true self. He’d lain with a man, touched his body, kissed his lips and whispered words of desire. He’d seen and felt Sebastian’s need for him – _him_ – and there was no way to deny how utterly that had transformed him. “Some of it was real,” he said.

But Sebastian shook his head. “No. It wasn’t. You just said it. Gavin terrorized you right up until the end. You thought you were a slave. You thought he held the power of life and death over you. How could anything that happened be real, Kurt? Everything you did was influenced by what you thought and what you were afraid of. I didn’t even understand how much until last night. I didn’t understand what I’d done to you until I saw how terrified you were, of me, of everything. You said I was fucking with your head and you were right. We both were, Gavin and me. You didn’t have any idea what was real.”

“Some of it was real to me,” Kurt said, stubborn, because he’d _been_ there and he’d wanted, he’d yearned and he’d chosen. He hadn’t been a pawn in everyone else’s hands. He’d done things he’d only ever dreamed of and they’d changed him fundamentally. Amidst all the lies and confusion and, yes, terror, there were moments that were real and he refused to let Sebastian deny them.

Sebastian was suddenly angry, and the eyes that had been all misery until now blazed with something new. “Don’t you get it? I saw you on that dais, burning with humiliation, and I thought, I can make him want it. I can make him _love_ it!” His voice, his words, were so ugly that Kurt flinched away from them behind his pillow shield. “I coerced you into trusting me and into breaking rules so fundamental that you thought Gavin would _kill_ you for disobeying. You thought you could die for what we did. Because I let you think that! How could any of it have been motivated by anything but terror?”

It was suddenly all too much for Kurt. He wanted it to be over. He wanted Sebastian to leave. With the two of them there in the room he couldn’t figure out where his emotions ended and Sebastian’s began. _It’s such a fucking mess._ The truest thing Sebastian had said so far.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Kurt said. He was too afraid that he’d let Sebastian’s certitude erode his own. He was too tired to fight. And it didn’t really matter anyhow. Kurt didn’t need Sebastian’s agreement to know what had happened to him. He tried to make himself believe that. “What did you think was going to happen?” he asked instead. “How was it all supposed to end?”

Sebastian took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “At first, I thought I’d just leave. Sebastian Smythe goes back to Greenway. And then Gavin would set you free with money and clothes and whatever you needed to get your life back again. I mean, I was going to stay and make sure he did it, but you would never know you’d been with anyone but Gavin’s under-steward.”

“At first? But that changed?”

“I knew I owed you more than that. After everything that happened – I couldn’t have lived with myself if I didn’t give you the chance to, I don’t know, scream at me or tell me what an asshole I am. I swear by the Maker, Kurt, I was planning to tell you all of this last night. And then I was going to beg you to at least let me help you find a place, somewhere, so I could know you were alright. I’m still going to do that.”

Kurt couldn’t help it. He had to ask. “Did you think that we would –?”

“No!” Sebastian cut him off like he couldn’t bear to let him say the words. “I know it can’t . . . I mean, I won’t say I didn’t fantasize about it but I know you could never . . .”

Kurt didn’t want to think about what Sebastian had fantasized. Because he wanted so much to think about it. “Weren’t you afraid to tell me? The whole point was for no one to know. But I know. Aren’t you worried that I’ll expose you?”

Sebastian smiled sadly. “I guess the one good thing you can say about me is that I finally managed to stop thinking about myself. I will do whatever you need, Kurt,” he said, with sincerity that even Kurt’s cynicism couldn’t doubt. “If you want me to, I will take you to Concordia and assemble the whole court and you can give them every horrible detail. It’s no more than I deserve. Let the council find a way to clean up the mess. I just want to do whatever you’ll let me do to help you.”

He seemed to be waiting for a decision, but Kurt found he rather liked leaving Sebastian dangling in the wind of his possible retribution.

After a moment, Sebastian cleared his throat. “If you do decide to . . . there’s one thing I have to ask you. I don’t like to do it but I have to.”

 “A condition?” Kurt asked.

“No. A request. Not for me, more for the realms.” Sebastian’s teeth worried at his bottom lip, like he knew whatever he was going to say would upset Kurt. “If what Gavin did became public – well, my father would have no choice but to bring him up on charges. And between my testimony and yours, he’d be convicted. He’d be imprisoned, and we’d lose control of Eastreach and believe me when I say that could only end badly.”

Kurt stared at him, appalled. Everything in him rebelled at the very idea. “So he walks away? He doesn’t pay for what he did to me?”

“Believe me, I hate it as much as you do.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

Kurt’s words were emphatic enough that Sebastian’s hands came up to shield himself again. “I know it’s a lot to ask. But there are factions here always looking for a power void to exploit and . . . oh gods, I could explain it better if I’d paid more attention to my tutors. That’s the first time I’ve ever wished I’d done that! Just believe me when I say that civil war isn’t out of the realm of possibility.”

“What if he does it again? What if he finds someone new to make his slut?”

Sebastian shook his head. “He won’t. I’m going to tell my parents everything. I’m sure my father will add some of our men to the guard here. Loyal men. We’ll know if he tries anything like this again.”

Kurt hugged his pillow and thought. Was that what he wanted? To tell the world what Sebastian had done to him, but let Gavin go free? “I don’t know,” he said. “I need time. There’s too much I have to figure out.”

“And I don’t want to pressure you, I promise, but I have to leave. By tomorrow morning at the very latest. If I don’t show up when they expect me my parents will send the cavalry after me and then everything’s going to get so much more complicated.”

“I really don’t think that’s possible.”

“And I am not leaving you here, so one way or another, we have to go somewhere soon.”

Kurt wanted to protest. It wasn’t fair to ask him to make life decisions when he was still reeling from everything he’d learned. He’d just opened his mouth to tell Sebastian that when the door to the room swung wide and the woman with the braided hair sailed in, trailed by the tiny boy.

“Bess! What happened to knocking?” Sebastian said.

The woman – Bess – made a dismissive sound. She dropped the bundle she was carrying on the bed and smiled at Kurt, ignoring Sebastian completely. “I’ve found the clothes that valet procured for you. It’s all here I think. Stockings, breeches, shirt. I’ve no idea what we’ll do about shoes, but we’ll figure that out later.”

“Bess –” Sebastian tried again.

She turned on him. “I’m told the barber’s the closest thing to an apothecary this place can provide. Go figure out where he’s holed up and see if he has any salve for Kurt’s hands.”

Now that he knew who Sebastian was, the way she spoke to him left Kurt even more aghast.

“What’s wrong with Kurt’s hands?” Sebastian asked. He moved closer, heading around the bed in Kurt’s direction and Kurt wasn’t at all sure he wanted him to do that but Bess, ahead of them both, cut him off and planted herself in his path, fists on her hips.

“He’s got burns. Like he was dragged away from a rope he was clinging to.” Her tone left no doubt as to what she thought of that.

Sebastian flushed red. He stared over Bess’s head at Kurt. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Go!” Bess pointed a stern finger at the door. “I’m sure some servant can tell you where to find the man. Kurt needs to get dressed and eat a decent meal. The gods know what they’ve been feeding him.”

His name on her lips was unsettling. He’d spent too long making sure no one knew him to be comfortable with people speaking it so casually.

Sebastian gave Kurt an apologetic grimace and turned to the door. Kurt had wanted him to go before, to give him space to think, but now that Sebastian was actually leaving Kurt’s heart sped up and he had to stifle the desire to call him back. When he disappeared through the doorway something icy flitted up Kurt’s spine.

Bess smiled at him like nothing could be amiss. The little boy hung behind her, sucking his thumb. “We’ll leave too. You get into those clothes and I’ll keep an eye out for the girl bringing your breakfast. Everything will look better after a good meal, won’t it?”

Kurt wasn’t as reassured as she seemed to hope he would be, but he smiled back at her and it almost felt genuine.

“Let’s go, Ned. There’ll be bacon for you, you’ve been such a good boy.” She shooed the child toward the door, tossing a wink back at Kurt before she closed it behind them both.

Kurt let the pillow in his arms fall away at last and stared helplessly at the dancing tapestry creatures that surrounded him. He was at a complete loss for what to do.

Get dressed, he supposed, although the very thought didn’t seem to fit right in his head. He pushed back the covers and slung his legs over the side of the bed – the window side – then dropped to the floor. The sleeping trousers were too long for him; they pooled around his feet on the soft carpet and their weight tugged strangely at his hips. The sudden realization that they must be Sebastian’s made him dizzy. Still, he shuffled forward so that he could look out onto a reality that had changed in too many ways since the last time he’d seen it.

Eastreach Castle, the courtyard full of bustling soldiers and visitors and servants, same as every day. Except now, according to Sebastian, everything had changed. Now, according to Sebastian, crown prince of the realms, he was free. With all of Sebastian’s explanations and impossible revelations, Kurt hadn’t really processed the most important and fundamental change of all. He couldn’t quite make sense of it and he couldn’t quite breathe. He watched as a merchant with loaded cart made his way out through the main gate, free to leave, like Kurt was free, so Sebastian said. A white post stood out as the cart passed it by – the very post that Gavin had chained him to, naked in the snow, to service every willing member of the guard before he was allowed back into the warmth of the castle. For what offense? Suddenly he couldn’t remember, although he stared at it for what felt like forever, searching his memory. But it was gone.

When understanding finally hit him, it was like the first brutal blow of a blacksmith’s hammer on freshly forged steel.

Kurt’s knees buckled and he dropped to the floor with a sob that convulsed his body. He shoved his fists against his mouth but a dam had broken and its thunderous flow wouldn’t be stifled. He wrapped his arms around his knees and let it pour through him until he was sure the entire castle could hear him crying – crying for everything he’d never let himself before. He cried for his mother and his father and old Master Neric. He cried for his lost life and for his freedom regained. For Sebastian’s betrayal and his soul-searing kisses. He wept fear and humiliation and relief and love. He mourned too many losses to count. All the appalling, terrifying things he’d been made to do and had done to him poured through his body with the rushing torrent. All the despair and false hope and the staggering, bottomless anger he’d crushed down inside for so long, it exploded along his limbs and squeezed his lungs until he was coughing his sobs into his arms. Somewhere, far inside, he wondered if he would ever stop crying and somewhere else he didn’t want to because he was so afraid that it was all a dream. He was free. He was free. It was over and he was free.

“That’s it, just let it out, let it go . . .”                                                                

Someone was holding him but he didn’t have space in his head for surprise. He turned his face into warm fabric and cried the relief of being held and rocked and murmured over.

“Poor thing, it’s all over, all over now . . .”

The acknowledgment brought fresh tears and Kurt’s arms loosened, then wrapped around the soft body that supported him and he was a child again, crying bitter tears of loss in his father’s arms, the last time he could remember letting anyone hold him as he wept.

“Shhhh. It’s alright. You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you again.”

It wasn’t his father, this was a woman and that more than anything helped to finally stem the tide of his emotions. His flood of tears subsided into sharp hiccupping breaths and he lifted his head at last to find himself wedged against the neck of the woman with the dark hair. Bess. The shoulder of her bodice was stained dark with his tears and who knew what other bodily fluids.

“Gods, I’m sorry!” He pulled away from her embrace and she let him go but watched him carefully, her eyes as full of compassion as her voice had been. “I made a mess . . .”

“What, this?” She smiled and shrugged. “That’s nothing at all. My shoulders have absorbed plenty of boys’ tears over the years, and young men’s as well. As recently as last night, in fact.” She tossed her head in the direction of the door, leaving no doubt as to whom she was referring.

“Sebastian?” Kurt asked. “Who are you?” He was suddenly filled with alarm. The way she told Sebastian what to do and he deferred to her – for a terrible moment he was certain that he’d been blubbering all over the queen of the realms herself, in disguise like her son.

“I’m Bess,” she said unhelpfully. But then she took pity on him. “I’m his nanny, I suppose you could say. Or I was when he needed a nanny. Not that he seems to have outgrown that need.”

“But you said the boy from the village was your nephew.”

She looked at him closely then, like she was inspecting him for wounds. “I’ll tell you what. You help me up from this floor and go get those clothes on and then we can talk while you eat your breakfast. Does that sound fair?”

Kurt had no idea what was fair anymore, but he had to admit that his stomach was rumbling. He stood up on shaky legs and offered her his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little Sebastian ex machina. Nobody really minds that, right?


	12. Chapter 12

The washroom was as ridiculously ornate as the bedroom. The door was cleverly hidden in the paneling next to the fireplace; even with Kurt’s experience in such matters he was surprised when Bess ran her fingers along a seam and popped it open. She deposited the pile of clothes in his arms and pushed him inside, guiding him with her hand on his back like he was a blind newborn puppy who couldn’t be expected to find his own way.

Which wasn’t very far from how he felt at the moment.

As soon as the door closed Kurt let himself droop against it with a sigh. The garments fell to the floor and he pressed his hands hard against his eyes. He wasn’t trying to stop tears – he’d cried enough, too much, and maybe someday when this was all over and he was . . . someplace else . . . maybe then he’d cry for days and days until he was utterly empty. Maybe. No, he wasn’t going to cry, but there was just so fucking much, and the weight of it pressing down, now that he was alone again, made it hard to do more than stand and breathe. Trying to understand was useless. He just had to put one foot in front of the other until he was out of this nightmare. He had to put on the clothes he’d been given and eat the food Bess had brought and figure out which direction he wanted to turn once the gates of Eastreach closed behind him. He had to face those things and he would, Kurt knew, but he also thought he deserved a minute to tremble like a lost child before he began.

Only a minute, though. Kurt had never been one to wallow. He couldn’t afford it. His life had been so full of grief that if he hadn’t learned to push it away and move forward he never would have accomplished anything. He took a deep breath, straightened his spine, and opened his eyes.

His initial impression was more than confirmed. It really was a beautiful room. It was lit by windows high up near the ceiling, and the morning sun shafted across a marble floor that swirled with grays like a cloudy sky. To his right was an oddly placed wall and it took him a moment to realize it was the back side of the fireplace, jutting into the room behind it. Directly across from him was . . . well, it must be meant to be a kind of washtub but Kurt had never seen a washtub like this. It was more of a pool, sunk into the floor, with taps above that Kurt could only suppose brought water. He was quite sure that when it was full he could have floated in it spread-eagle without touching any of the sides. It was hard to believe there were people who lived this way, with things like these. He had to drag his eyes away from it to inspect the rest of the room.

To his left, under the windows, stretched a long counter of shining dark stone, and beyond that was an alcove that partially hid a high wooden commode carved with a pattern of flowers and leaves. There was a polished metal basin sunk into the middle of the counter and a pair of ewers painted with violets, one on each side. Steam rose from one of them and Kurt stepped away from the door, feet sliding on the smooth marble, to peer into it. Hot water, he discovered, and the other was filled to the brim with cold.

The hot water puzzled him. He hadn’t seen anyone come in through the bedroom, but if the water had been placed before he woke up it would have cooled by now. Which meant, he realized with a start, that there must be another hidden entrance to the room. His heart began to trip over itself as he watched the steam curl toward the ceiling. Another entrance anyone could use, to sneak in, to take him . . .

He spun around but the room behind him was empty. The only place anyone might be hiding was on the far side of the jut of the fireplace. Kurt wasn’t taking any chances. He hefted the ewer of hot water – the only thing he could think of to use in his defense – and crept as silently as he could across the room. As he stretched his neck to peek around the wall movement caught his eye and he cried out in alarm, nearly dropping his weapon.

A man peeked back at him, around the other end of the wall. A man who looked as terrified as Kurt felt. A man holding a huge, flower-painted, steaming ewer.

“Kurt? Is everything alright?” Bess called from the other side of the door.

“Yes,” Kurt said, too quiet to be heard. The other man’s lips moved as he spoke. “I’m okay,” he said, louder, “sorry.”

Both men bent slowly and set twin porcelain jugs on the floor, then straightened and faced each other. Two men in green, too-long sleeping trousers with wide eyes blotched red from crying.

Kurt tilted his head to one side then the other. There was no question. He was looking into a huge, polished mirror and the young man looking back was – it had to be – himself. But knowledge didn’t help Kurt match what he knew to be true with what his senses were telling him.

The man in the reflection was tall and slim, strong-shouldered and long-legged. His chest rose and fell in short, sharp inhalations and as it did muscles bunched under his skin. His neck was so long and his blue eyes were huge, startled, like a frightened animal. Carefully, as if he really might be in danger from the apparition, Kurt stepped closer to this other self he didn’t recognize. The jaw was strong and square and there was a dimple at the end of his chin – had he always had that? He couldn’t remember. A fading bruise marred the skin beside the chin. Kurt pressed his fingers to his own jaw, irritating the still-painful spot where Gavin had gripped him. Then he ran his hands up his gently hollowed cheeks. He turned this way and that, trying to make it fit, but it only made him dizzy, like looking down from high up. He couldn’t manage to properly understand that the beautiful, sad, strong man staring back was _him_. He reached for the mirror and one welted palm met the other, long fingers touching tentatively.

“Gods,” they breathed together.

Kurt stepped back again for a better view, stared at shoulders that seemed impossibly broad, arms corded with wiry muscle, pale expenses of skin broken only by the stormy blue of his eyes, dark tousle of his hair – trimmed neatly, if not quite his usual style, he thought, sending a silent _thank you_ to the duke’s barber – and the rosy pink of his nipples . . .

_Sebastian’s tongue flicking pleasure, fingers pinching fire, making them ache . . ._

A flush crept up the long neck in the mirror and the eyes went dark with an even more unfamiliar look. Following an impulse he didn’t bother to question, Kurt reached for the drawstring of the green trousers and pulled at the knot. He closed his eyes as they slipped away from his body to pile on the marble around his feet. He felt instantly better without them, but he pushed that uncomfortable thought away. He took a deep breath then peeked through his lashes at the naked man reflected back at him.

It was a beautiful body. Long torso – _not as long as Sebastian’s_ something tiny in his head piped up but he squashed that firmly into silence – and narrow hips. A cleanly cut vee lead down to strong thighs and calves and feet that seemed far too big. But there was no _Kurt_ there. It was like looking at a stranger.

If there was no Kurt Hummel to be found in the young man staring at him, Kurt realized there was also no slut. He’d avoided mirrors when he’d moved naked around the castle, but Kurt had never been able to banish the image in his head of how he must look to others. But that image wasn’t any more present in the reflection than the boy he remembered being before he was taken. Had he really changed that much in only half a year? Or was it that he’d changed so much inside that the outside seemed foreign and distant?

Emboldened by the unfamiliarity, Kurt finally let his gaze linger on the genitals hanging soft between his legs. He took a step closer and stared at his penis as if he’d never seen it – or anyone’s – before. So strange – this one bit of flesh that his whole world had seemed to revolve around since the day he’d woken up in the dungeons of Eastreach. It looked, not tiny – that wasn’t right – it was just the size it should be; he was sure that erect it was just as large as Sebastian’s but he wasn’t going to think about that – no, not tiny. Insignificant. Just a few inches of flesh. It seemed impossible that it could have been used to such devastating effect to control and punish him. Days and weeks and months on end Gavin had teased and tortured it, punished it in a hundred ways, keeping it hard, keeping Kurt off-balance and humiliated with every thrusting throb. And now there it hung. Inconsequential. Soft. Kurt realized that it hadn’t stirred since – he wasn’t even sure when it had last grown hard. Had he been erect when he’d cowered under Gavin’s gaze by the fire? When he’d flown at Sebastian with all the pent-up rage of his six months of captivity? After being so aware of it for so long, how could it be that he didn’t remember?

One hand drifted down and he grazed the flaccid length with the tips of his fingers. Did it feel good? He wasn’t sure, and the uncertainty prickled uncomfortably in his head. What if . . . Kurt and his reflection shook their heads but he couldn’t break away from the thought. What if it would never get hard again? What if it couldn’t anymore, without the fear he’d been so well-trained to respond to? What if the insanity of his enslavement had warped him forever, beyond repair? Was arousal itself beyond him now, forever associated with the horrors he’d experienced? He stroked himself again but his flesh didn’t stir. He was sure that should frighten him. It would be the height of irony to be finally free to pleasure himself only to find his body still trapped in Gavin’s thrall. But he felt nothing for his limp cock but curiosity. Did he simply not care? Or was more than his cock still enslaved?

He shook his head again and turned away from the mirror. His foot bumped the ewer he’d left on the floor but he bent and caught it before it could tip. He hefted it back onto the shining counter and scooped up the clothes he’d dropped. He wasn’t going to think about that right now. He wasn’t going to think at all. Not until he had to.

For the first time in more than six months, he was going to get dressed.

*     *     *

When he came out of the bathroom Kurt found Bess and little Ned sitting at a table that hadn’t been there when he’d gone in. Ned was teasing his aunt with a piece of bacon, offering it to her then swiping it away with a giggle when she tried to take a bite. Between them a huge silver tray steamed with hot food and when the smell hit Kurt’s nostrils his stomach seemed to remember that it hadn’t been fed in forever and gave a mighty rumble. He was sure only he could hear it. The fact that Bess looked up from the game at the exact moment was certainly a coincidence.

She beamed at Kurt. “Well that’s much better! How do they feel?”

“Strange,” Kurt said. More than strange, actually. The unfamiliar garments pressed and pulled and weighed on his body. He’d almost dissolved into tears just encasing his legs in the stockings. Once upon a time clothes had been Kurt’s friends and allies, his weapons and his shield. Now every uncomfortable rub of fabric against his skin made it that much harder to not think about the things he didn’t want to think about.

“Why strange?” Bess asked.

 _Because I’ve been a naked slave so long that I can’t remember anything else_ didn’t seem like a charitable response, no matter how true it was. Kurt liked Bess’s smile. He wanted her to keep smiling. “They don’t quite fit,” he said, which wasn’t exactly a lie. “The sleeves are too long.” He held out his arms so she could see how he’d rolled them up.

“Pity we don’t know anyone who’s good with a needle,” Bess said with a wink. “Come and eat.”

But Kurt was stuck on what she’d said. He stayed where he was, forcing himself not to pull at the tight waist of his new breeches. “He told you that?” he asked.

She smiled. “He told me everything. Well,” she glanced meaningfully at Ned, who had started munching the bacon he’d been teasing her with, “most of everything. I’m sure he left out some _details_ –” Kurt shuddered at the thought of what those details might be “– but I think I got the gist. Now come and fill your stomach before it all gets cold.”

Kurt was still caught up in the idea that somewhere in the night Sebastian had told Bess about him, about his tailoring and who knew what else. He had an image in his head now of them sitting up together and Sebastian explaining him to Bess in little details like that – but why? He didn’t understand. And the last thing he needed was another thing to not understand. God, even his own thoughts were confusing. He went to the table and sat.

As he dropped into the empty chair Ned gave him a bacony grin then snapped at his slice with the viscous gusto of a starving crocodile. Kurt couldn’t help smiling back.

“It’s the very best breakfast Eastreach Castle can provide,” Bess said, filling Kurt’s plate without waiting for him to ask. “I told the cook it was for his royal highness himself. That got them moving, I can tell you! Tea?”

Kurt shook his head. Water felt safer at the moment. His pewter flagon was already on the table next to a trencher full of eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, tomatoes, fruit, and what he thought might be smoked fish. It was far too much for anyone to actually eat at one meal. But it looked delicious and he was hungry, so he picked up a fork and stabbed at the potatoes.

“I like tea,” Ned piped up from behind his bacon slice. “Ma lets me have it. Sometimes.” He looked at Bess with such an innocently honest expression that Kurt found himself smiling again. It felt strange, almost as strange as the fabric smothering his body and pulling against his joints.

“Well, I suppose. Since you’ve been so good.” Bess filled a dainty cup from the teapot and added milk and sugar before setting it in front of Ned. The boy’s face broke into a wide grin and he dipped his head and slurped at the rim.

Kurt studied Bess from behind his own slice of bacon. It really was delicious. The staff had gone all out for their future king. “So his secret really is out,” he said.

“Sebastian’s? I should think so, the way he was giving orders around here last night.”

He waited for her to go on but she just poured her own cup of tea and took a dainty sip.

“And you were going to tell me about . . .”

“Oh! So I was.” Bess put down her cup and shrugged. “Well I don’t mean to disappoint but it’s not much of a story.”

“You’re from the village?” Kurt asked

“I am. I was born there. I came here,” she waved a hand to indicate the castle, “when I was just eleven. Scullery maid at first. But I was ambitious! And eventually I ended up as maid to young Lady Wilamina herself. And when King Harold asked for her hand in marriage, well, her majesty is nothing if not loyal. I can’t tell you how many people thought she should have a proper, city-trained maid. But she’d have none but me. So off I went with her to the City by the Sea. Try the fish.”

Kurt obediently sank his fork into the soft flesh. Bess flashed him another approving smile.

“I don’t like fish,” Ned said with a wrinkle of his nose. “I like bacon.”           

“Go ahead,” Bess said.

The boy grabbed two more slices, one in each tiny fist, and nibbled at them in turns.

“I’m very sorry to say, I wasn’t as loyal to my lady as she was to me.”

“What happened?” Kurt asked around his bite of fish.

“What usually happens to a young girl in a new place. I fell in love. With the handsomest stable boy the gods have ever created. And I married him. He’s stable master now, I’m happy to say. So her majesty finally got that city-trained maid. And the whole court slept better at night knowing she was in professional hands at last.” She huffed a laugh at her own joke and sipped at her tea again.

Kurt laughed too. He couldn’t help it. Between her sarcastic tone and the greedy glee of Ned’s attack on his bacon, he didn’t stand a chance. Laughing felt even stranger than smiling, but he was pretty sure he liked it. “So if you got married how did you end up with . . .” Even in this new, happy mood Kurt wasn’t sure he wanted to say the name out loud.

“Sebastian? Now that is a tale. See, I was pregnant with my Tom the same time her majesty was carrying Sebastian. Of course they’d hired a fancy wet nurse for him, just as they had for Daniel. But when her majesty took to her bed with the pains, the cursed wench was nowhere to be found! So professional! The very best references! You know where they finally tracked her down?”

Kurt shook his head.

“Sprawled over a table at a tavern in The Mill. Dead drunk.” She nodded her head for emphasis, as if to say she’d expected it all along.

“The Mill?”

“It’s what we call the,” she glanced at the boy sitting across from her, “the _unsavory_ district of the city. If you get my meaning. By the time they found her it was too late, even if their majesties had been willing to give her another chance. You see, I’d given birth just the day before, and so I was pressed into emergency service. When that fancy nurse had slept it off, well, I did tell you her majesty is loyal. The nurse was fired and from that day on you could say I raised Sebastian, alongside my own boy. They suckled side by side.” She curled her arms as if holding twin babies against her ample bosom. “And they’re like brothers to this day.”

A Crown Prince whose best friend was the son of a stable boy. Yet another version of Sebastian for Kurt to grapple with.

“You could say I’m as much of a mother to him as the queen,” Bess went on. “Now don’t get me wrong. Their majesties love their children. But running a pair of realms doesn’t leave much time for kissing wounds or drying tears. I suppose what I mean is, I love him as much as if he were my own.” A touch of sadness clouded her eyes.

“So you always come with him when he’s here?” Kurt asked.

Bess shook her head and the emotion that had darkened her gaze cleared. “Oh no. Usually he comes alone. I was forced upon him this time.”

Kurt must have looked as puzzled as he felt, because she laughed before she went on. “It was quite a to-do. He’s the Crown Prince now. And the only surviving heir. Much too important to send hundreds of miles away on an incognito mission. Of course, being Sebastian, he was determined to come anyway. And their majesties were equally determined that he wouldn’t. If you think he’s stubborn, you should meet Queen Wilamina!” She laughed again. “In the end I suppose I was the compromise. “

“Hundreds of miles?” Kurt knew Concordia City was far but he hadn’t quite grasped how far.

“I didn’t mind. It’s been years since I’ve seen my sister and her little ones. Most not so little anymore. This one was a surprise.” She cocked an eyebrow in Ned’s direction but the boy ignored them both, completely absorbed in alternating sips of tea and bites of bacon, bouncing between them to some internal rhythm only he could hear. “And I’m glad I did come,” she said more quietly, leaning close to Kurt, “given . . . everything. For your sake and for Sebastian’s. I won’t try to excuse . . .” another glance at the boy “. . . what he did. There is no excuse. But I hope you’ll think about forgiving him. That’s probably wrong of me. And selfish. But I can’t help it.”

“Selfish?” Kurt asked.

“Well I did say he was like a son to me. And I hate to see him hurting. But that’s wrong of me too. I know it’s not fair to ask you to fix what he broke. But I love him too much not to.”

Kurt wasn’t sure what to say to her; he wasn’t even sure she expected a reply. A distant knock – the outer door of the suite he supposed – saved him from the attempt.

“Oh gods, what can that be?” Bess jumped up and went to see, leaving Kurt and little Ned alone.

As soon as his aunt had gone the boy looked directly at Kurt for the first time, as if he’d been expressly waiting for them to be alone to make a study of him. Kurt looked back. He’d never spend any time around little children and he found himself at a bit of a loss. For a long moment they regarded each other, while murmured voices drifted in from the outer room.

“Are you going to eat your bacon?” Ned finally said.

Kurt shook his head solemnly. “I’m full. Do you want it?”

A grin split the tiny face and the child reached his chubby hand to snatch the last piece from the platter. But once he had it he only nibbled, watching Kurt over the top of the slice.

“Do you want to know a secret?” the boy asked, bouncing in his chair.

Kurt nodded.

“I’ve met the . . .” his brow wrinkled with concentration, “. . . the Crown Prince of Concordia!” He recited it carefully, like he’d been practicing.

Kurt couldn’t help smiling. He leaned close to Ned and whispered like a co-conspirator, “I’ve met him too.”

“When did you meet him?” Ned asked, looking distinctly dismayed that he was not the only lucky party.

Kurt had to give the question some thought. “Just this morning,” he decided.

Ned smiled smugly. “I met him last night. So I’ve known him longer than you have.”

“I suppose you have.”

“He’s very tall,” Ned said, examining his bacon as if he was trying to compare its size to Sebastian’s.

“He is.”

“Is he taller than you?”

“He might be,” Kurt said, as if he couldn’t remember the exact distance between his own lips and Sebastian’s.

Ned took a bite of bacon and regarded Kurt while he chewed. He swallowed, then whispered with an air of great secrecy, “He gave me a job.”

“He did?” Kurt raised his goblet to his lips to hide his smile.

“It was very important, he said. He asked me to watch you while you were sleeping, and to tell him the minute you woke up. And I did it! He said I did very good.”

“So that’s why I felt so safe when I was sleeping!”

The boy grinned again. His smile was too infectious to resist, and Kurt found himself grinning back.

“What did it feel like?” Ned asked.

“Sleeping?”

“Sleeping in _that._ ” Ned pointed a finger shiny with bacon grease at the huge four-poster bed.

“Want to see?” Kurt asked him.

The boy’s eyes went wide. “Can I?” he breathed.

“Come on!” Kurt got up and beckoned to the child, who wasted no time on such niceties as napkins. He ran to Kurt bacon in hand.

Normally Kurt would have cringed at the idea of bacon crumbs on brocade, but the child jumped into his arms and held on tight as Kurt lifted him up and Kurt couldn’t be bothered to care about such unimportant trivialities. He deposited Ned dead center, and the boy hugged Kurt’s neck tight before he let go and fell back into the feathery softness.

“It’s like clouds,” he breathed.

“Princes are lucky, I guess,” Kurt said.

“Are you a prince?”

Kurt smiled at him. “Not even close.”

“Then what are you?”

The boy certainly had a knack for asking questions Kurt wasn’t sure how to answer. “I’m a tailor,” he said after a moment. “And I’ve never slept on a bed like this in my life, before last night.”

“Me too.” Ned’s smile twisted wide as a yawn broke through. “I’m going to be a stable boy.”

“You are?”

The boy nodded. “When I’m bigger. Auntie promised. I’m going to go to Concordia City and swim in the sea and work for my uncle. I’ve never met him, but he’s very important.” He yawned again with a stretch that seemed much too big for his little mouth.

“I’m sure he is,” Kurt said.

Ned held his half-eaten piece of bacon out between them, and when Kurt took it the boy snuggled down into the pillows, wrapping his arms around the very one Kurt had used for a shield. “And the sea is very big,” he told Kurt sleepily.

“I’ve heard that, too.” Kurt turned away for only a moment, just long enough to put the bacon back on the platter and wipe his fingers on a spare napkin, but when he turned back the child’s eyes had slipped closed and his little hands rested limp on the coverlet.

Watching him, curled up tiny on the huge bed, breathing long and slow in his trusting sleep, Kurt felt a longing so poignant and brutal that it was almost pain. That had been him, once, years ago. Trusting. Like all children, he’d trusted everything. What terrible lessons would life have to teach this little one, he wondered.

Pain alerted him to the fact that he was clutching his battered hands in hard fists. He forced them open and forced his maudlin thoughts away. He was done with that now. He needed to get his head together and move on. That’s how his father had always put it, when Kurt was nursing some terrible hurt. _Get it out then get it together._ He couldn’t have been much older than the boy sleeping before him the first time he’d heard those words.

“They’re so precious when they’re sleeping, aren’t they?” Bess’s voice behind him was quiet, to avoid waking the boy. Or maybe to avoid startling Kurt. “If only they could be half as precious when they’re awake!”

He turned to find her smiling despite her words. “Does it always happen so fast?” he asked.

She snorted. “Sebastian once fell asleep mid-sentence. And if I remember right, that sentence was him trying to tell me that he wasn’t tired in the least and was most definitely too old for naps. Come and eat a little more. You haven’t touched the eggs.”

Kurt reluctantly moved away from the peaceful picture of the sleeping boy. He went back to his chair and before he could help himself Bess put an egg nestled in a delicate yellow cup in front of him. He picked up a spoon and poked at the shell, just to placate her. But his mind was on things other than food.

“What was he like?” he asked. “When he was a boy.”

“Sebastian?” Bess smiled. She refilled her teacup from the delicate pot, took a long sip, then cradled it in her hands. “He was . . . probably exactly as you’d imagine. Too confident for his own good, I’m sure. Always so certain of himself. Stubborn as the day is long. But happy. He was such a happy child.”

For some reason, the thought made Bess look sad, but Kurt almost smiled. It was, as Bess had said, exactly as he would have imagined. He could see it so easily. Sebastian as a young, gangling child, too big for his own body, conquering the world between naps.

“There was no malice in him, ever. He was certain he would excel at anything he attempted, but somehow he always understood that you have to work for that excellence. He could be arrogant, that’ll come as no surprise to you. Especially when he was old enough to really understand his position. But he always tried to do what was right. At least until . . .” She stopped herself and pursed her lips, and her eyebrows came together in the sternest look he’d yet seen on her face.

“Until?” Kurt prompted.

She blew out air on a sigh. “You know what I’m going to say. Until Daniel died. He changed. Like he’d been unmoored and spun around until he didn’t know which way was up. I suppose we all felt that way. But it was _more_ , for Sebastian. Because of who he is.”

“Because of the succession?”

“He was so angry. He drank too much. Went tearing around the countryside on that huge stallion of his. Their majesties – well they’d just lost one son to a riding accident. It was . . .” she shook her head as if she had to rattle the word loose, “. . . cruel. Sebastian had never been cruel like that before. I didn’t recognize him. None of us did. My Tom became his shadow; followed him around, trying to keep him safe. One day he found Sebastian on a hillside outside the city fighting a duel with an oak tree with his great-great-grandfather’s ceremonial sword. More than a hundred years old, it was! The sword, not the tree. They’ve never told me what happened that day, but when Tom dragged him back to the city he’d changed again. It was as if all the life had drained out of him. I still don’t know which was worse. The way he fought it or the way he surrendered to it.”

He watched a play of emotions transform her face, until she lowered her eyes and sipped at the tea again. “You’ll think I’m trying to make you sympathize with him, but I’m not, really I’m not.”

“I don’t. I asked you and you told me.” She was the closest thing Kurt had found to an ally and he wasn’t about to risk upsetting her.

She looked up at him again, wary this time, like she expected him to be angry with her. “The thing is, I can’t excuse what he did to you and I’d never try. But I also can’t completely regret it.”

Kurt stared at her. “Why?”

“What happened here changed him too. Again. I saw it right away. He found something here, maybe in what he did or maybe in _you_ , I don’t know.” She shrugged like an apology. “I think he’s learned that there are things he cares more about than whether or not he’ll have to be king. He’s finally starting to put his hurt aside and just get on with it.”

It was so close to the words Kurt himself had just used that he had to lower his eyes and poke at his egg to hide his emotion. “A little late,” he muttered. But he didn’t feel the anger he knew he should as he said it.

Bess just smiled the sad smile again. “Yes. You were the one who paid the price for it. And I hate that. But still, I can’t regret the change.”

Kurt stared at her, trying to figure out how he felt about what she’d said, or how he felt about anything. He let his gaze drift to the child whose curls shone against the brocade bedclothes. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now,” he said.

“You’re free. You should do exactly as you like. I think you’ve more than earned that right. It’s not about what Sebastian wants or what I want. You need to do what you want to do.”

She made it sound so simple. “If I had any idea what that was.”

Bess put down the teacup and began stacking plates and flatware on the tray. “Well maybe you’re going about it wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“Instead of being so focused on the fact that you don’t know what you want to do, maybe try thinking about the things that you do know. There have to be some.”

Kurt sighed. “I know I don’t want to stay here.”

She laughed, merry again, all trace of her former sadness gone. “That’s one thing we can all agree on. I can’t wait to put this house of horrors behind me.” She covered the breakfast tray with its domed lid and rose from her chair. “And that’s a good start. I bet you can think of some more, too, if you try.” She picked up the tray and turned for the door.

“Bess?”

She twisted to look at him over her shoulder, eyebrows arched in question.

Kurt struggled for a moment with what he wanted to ask. “Will he be a good king?” he said finally.

Bess looked at him, considering, then turned fully around, put the tray back on the table, and settled into her chair again, leaning close. “Can you keep a secret?” she asked.

“Who do I have to tell a secret to?”

Her eyes rolled in the direction of the door.

“I won’t tell him,” Kurt promised.

Bess nodded, satisfied. “I think he’ll be a better king than his brother would have been.”

Kurt’s surprise must have shown on his face because she rushed to clarify. “Oh, Daniel would have done well. More than well, and no mistake. He’d have been fair and just, and I’m quite sure he would have been remembered as a great ruler. But Daniel was raised to duty and responsibility from before he could even say the words. He’d been shaped to his destiny since the day he was born.”

“And . . . Sebastian?” Kurt had to push his name out, but he felt something soften in his chest as he finally spoke it.

“Sebastian, well, he’s known freedom. And hope. Ambition. Not the kingly kind, he’s never cared for any of that. But he grew up believing that anything was possible for him. He’s been allowed to dream his own dreams and plan to make them come true.” She stared at Kurt so intently, as if it was crucial to her that he grasp this one point. “And then, in one terrible moment it was all swept away. He lost his brother and he lost his own freedom.” She took his hand and squeezed gently, careful not to press at his palm. “Sebastian will _understand_ his people in way Daniel never could have. What they hope for. What they fear. What they’re willing to sacrifice for the things and the people they love. And you should know that you’re part of that. His understanding will be deeper because of what happened here. Another reason I can’t quite regret it. Daniel would have cared for the people as his subjects, but Sebastian will care _about_ them, as people like himself, and like you.” She let him go and sat back; her hands reached for the tray again but she kept her eyes on Kurt. “He could have walked away, you know. Despite what he says. He could have left it all to Princess Lenora’s boy and still had the life he wanted.”

“So why didn’t he?”

“Because that particular Harold is a spoiled brat, and a bully. And I think even in his darkest moments Sebastian knew how much it would hurt his parents, and even the realms. Despite all his protestations of selfishness, he never even mentioned it.”

She watched Kurt for a moment, waiting, perhaps, for him to speak. When he stayed silent she returned to the piling of plates. “It won’t give him a day’s happiness, I’m afraid,” she said softly, “but I think he’ll make a _wonderful_ king.”

As if on cue a gentle tap sounded from the door and it swung inward. There stood Sebastian, still so tall, still looking tense and wary, holding a dark ceramic pot in one hand. Kurt’s heart sped up at the sight of him, although he tried very hard not to let it.

“Ah! Perfect,” Bess said, rising from her chair and taking the breakfast tray with her. “Put that down and get Ned for me, if you will. He can finish his nap on the big chaise.”

The more Kurt learned about Sebastian the more amazed he was at the way Bess freely commanded him. Sebastian’s eyes bounced from Bess to Kurt and back again, but he must have decided it was easier to obey. He set the pot on the table and made for the bed, passing so close that Kurt had to force himself to sit upright and still, although whether his body wanted to lean toward Sebastian or flinch away, he couldn’t have said. He did turn, though, and watch as Sebastian leaned over the boy and slid his arms under the tiny body.

Ned mumbled as Sebastian lifted him.

“Shhh,” Sebastian whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

Chubby arms wrapped around Sebastian’s shoulders and the boy nosed against the skin of Sebastian’s neck – against the dark bruise Kurt had left there – and drifted off again.

Watching, Kurt tried not to remember the warm scent, the taste, of that spot where Ned’s curly head now rested. He tried not to watch Sebastian’s face for some sign that he remembered too. He failed. His eyes followed the Crown Prince of Concordia as he trailed behind Bess, carrying the child out of the room. Kurt wished he knew if such a thing was as extraordinary as it felt to him. Maybe it was just that his life of late had been so devoid of any human kindness. Maybe everyone behaved this way, and Sebastian wasn’t special at all.

As they crossed the threshold Kurt had a moment of frozen indecision. Should he follow them? But where? This room had come to feel like an island of safety from the unknown beyond the door. Fortunately, they both returned almost immediately, Sebastian still following Bess like a page waiting for orders. But when the nurse made for the table and the pot of salve, Sebastian paused near the doorway, looking as uncertain as Kurt felt.

“Hands,” Bess commanded. For a moment Kurt had no idea what she was talking about. But she gestured in demonstration and Kurt followed her example, laying his hands palm-up on the table. The sight of the angry welts surprised him. He’d forgotten them entirely. But from the doorway he heard Sebastian gasp.

“It looks worse than it is,” Bess said, looking at Kurt but speaking loudly enough for Sebastian to hear. “I don’t think you need any bandaging. The salve will keep it clean and soften the skin so it doesn’t pull as much.”

She scooped some cream from the pot and took one of Kurt’s hands, massaging the salve carefully over the welt. Her touch was warm and gentle and Kurt felt a pull to close his eyes and let himself enjoy the unfamiliar feeling of being cared for. But he was too acutely aware of Sebastian watching from the doorway to let his guard down.

“I know you haven’t made any decisions yet,” Bess went on as she finished with Kurt’s left hand and took up his right, “but I think we should at the very least leave the castle by tonight. Even if we only go as far as the village. I can stay with my sister and there’s a perfectly serviceable inn for the two of you. Maybe you’ll be able to work things out better when you’re clear of this place.”

“I’ll have to send a rider to the capital with a message,” Sebastian said. “The last thing we need is their majesties sending the guard down after me when I don’t show up on time.”

Kurt looked up at him then, and when their eyes met Sebastian opened his mouth as if he had more to say, but then he closed it without speaking and turned to go.

“Sebastian!” Kurt called out, surprising no one more than himself.

Sebastian’s face appeared again, his expression half hope, half fear. It would have been comical, Kurt thought, in other circumstances.

“Don’t go,” he said, rushing to speak before he lost his nerve.

Sebastian’s eyes went wide. Bess looked from one young man to the other as she stoppered the bottle of cream. “Well, I suppose I can send the message just as well as he can,” she said, standing up to go. “Truth be told, a message from me would probably be great deal more reassuring to them. Just be sure you let that sink in.” She nodded at Kurt’s hands, turned, and brushed Sebastian out of the way as she left the room.

Alone again, Kurt thought as the door closed behind her. It was starting to feel like they were going in circles, always coming back to the same place. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. He wasn’t even sure that he had something to say. Sebastian hovered by the door and didn’t seem any more inclined to speak that Kurt was, so with nothing better to do, Kurt rose from his chair and went to the window. Far below in the courtyard a groom was leading two big brown horses out toward the gates. He wondered if they were for them, ordered by Sebastian to prepare for departure. Silence was loud in the room as Kurt watched the groom tether the horses to the same post that he’d been tethered to, once, in a manner of speaking.  Seeing it again left Kurt even more at a loss for what to say to the man, the prince, who stood in silence behind him.

Sebastian broke first. “It must be nice have . . . clothes on again.” He faltered on the last words, realizing too late that he was only reminding them both of the months Kurt had been forced to live naked and exposed.

“It feels strange,” Kurt said, not turning from the window, “like everything else.”

“Kurt –”

“I have no idea what to say to you.” Kurt turned then and faced Sebastian, who still stood in front of the massive door like he might need to flee at any moment. “I know I should be furious with you. And I am, part of me, I think. You know, that’s one thing Gavin never did to me. He never managed to make me doubt myself.”

“But I did.” Sebastian’s voice was heavy and tired.

One of Kurt’s hands rubbed at the other palm, nervously slipping through the salve. “The things I should feel, I don’t. And the things I do feel, I shouldn’t. What am I supposed to do with that? It feels like I’m full of holes. You tore all these holes in me and I don’t know if I’m supposed to try and plug them up or just rip them wider and let the light shine through.” Kurt stared at Sebastian, pleading with him for answers he knew Sebastian didn’t have either.

Sebastian just opened his hands out in front of him, helplessly, like he expected a solution to drop into them from the sky.

“I can’t trust the things I feel,” Kurt went on. “I don’t even know if I can trust what I remember feeling. You were right before. It’s just a big mess. And I need to find a way through it but I don’t know how.”

Sebastian took a tentative step closer, his hands still out, pleading. “Let’s just get out of here. Maybe Bess is right. Maybe you won’t really feel free until we’re gone. You’ll be able to think better down in the village.”

Kurt blew out a frustrated breath and stalked back to the bed. He traced his fingers along the dip in the coverlet left by Ned’s body. How could he tell Sebastian that the thought of the village only scared him more? That he’d rather be naked than trussed into clothing that pinched and pulled? That the only things that felt safe to him were this room and . . . but no. He wasn’t going to think about that.

But where did that leave him?

“Kurt,” Sebastian said, softly this time, and closer, he must have moved further into the room. “Just let me take you to the village. I can leave you there, if you want. If I’m making it harder for you. Just please let me get you out of here. I need to see you safe. Then you’ll never have to see me again, if that’s what you want.”

Kurt kept his eyes on the paisley pattern of the coverlet. “Bess said I should think about what I know.”

“What . . . what does that mean?”

Kurt shrugged. “She thinks that even though I feel like I’m lost in the Render’s most diabolical labyrinth, there must be some things I know, and if I follow them, they may lead me out.”

He looked back to find Sebastian closer than he thought, standing at the foot of the bed with a hand wrapped around the dark wood of the bedpost. Too close, really. His sudden nearness made Kurt feel dizzy and the bruise Kurt had sucked into Sebastian’s skin glared at him. It was hard to concentrate on Sebastian’s words, with him so close. “It’s a good idea. Is there anything you know?”

 _I know what exactly what that spot on your neck tastes like._ Yet another thing Kurt couldn’t risk trusting. Right up there with _I know how it feels to want to die when you kiss me,_ and _I know you changed me in ways I barely understand._

“Well I know I have to get out of here,” was what he said out loud, at least partly to persuade himself. The safety of the room was an illusion, he knew.  And the same was almost certainly true of Sebastian.

“You know I agree with you on that,” Sebastian said.     

“And I know . . . I know I can’t go back to Pluna.” Kurt hadn’t quite realized it until he said it.

“Are you sure?” Sebastian asked tentatively.

“Absolutely. There’s nothing there for me now.”

Sebastian’s head tilted and his mouth pulled into a pucker.

“What?” Kurt asked.

“You don’t even want to – find out what happened? Who did this to you?” Sebastian looked incredulous. Avid, almost.

“Why? What purpose would it serve now?”

“You could bring them to justice.”

Kurt sat down on the bed and looked down at his palms, glistening with salve over dark welts. Just the sight of them brought back the rope. Clinging to it while Sebastian dragged him away. Clinging to it while Sebastian embraced him.

“Them,” he said softly. “But not Gavin. And not you.”

Sebastian was silent for a long time, but Kurt kept his eyes on his hands.

“Me too, if you want,” Sebastian said at last. “I told you –”

“I don’t want,” Kurt said. He looked up and found the green eyes full of confused emotions. Sebastian was groping just as much as he was, Kurt realized. “That’s another thing I know. I don’t care about vengeance or justice or whatever you want to call it. I want this over. I want my life back. I never want to think about any of this again.”

That wasn’t true, not strictly. There were things Kurt wanted to remember, but since he didn’t want to confess to wanting to remember them, he moved on to more important things.

“I know I’m a tailor,” he said, louder this time because he was sure of that if nothing else. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I worked so hard for it.”

“That’s good,” Sebastian said. He looked relieved that the subject had changed. “That’s a lot.”

“And I know –” this was harder to admit because he suspected it was just what Sebastian wanted to hear, “– that I always dreamed of going to Concordia.” It was uncomfortable but true. Ever since he’d heard of the shining city by the sea Kurt had known his destiny lay along its clean paved streets. “Master Neric trained there. He said that with his letter I’d be able to get a position in any shop in the city.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened and he smiled – a genuine smile this time without even a hint of sorrow. “That’s fantastic! I mean, I’ll take you to Concordia, if that’s what you want. Gods, I’d give anything to see you safe and settled. And my mother is an absolute slave to fashion. She’ll know just who to go to – the best shops in the city.”

Kurt would have laughed if he hadn’t felt so suddenly breathless. The very idea of him getting employment assistance from the queen of the realms . . . “I don’t have the letter anymore,” he said. “I didn’t exactly have a chance to bring it with me when I was drugged and kidnapped.”

That wiped the smile from Sebastian’s face. Kurt was both sorry to see it go and, with a ghostly hint of the vindictiveness he knew he should be feeling, happy.

“I’m the prince,” Sebastian said. “If I vouch for you, you’ll get hired anywhere.”

“How do you know I’m any good? Maybe I’d only make you look bad.”

“Kurt, I wouldn’t give a fuck if you didn’t even know how to thread a needle. Getting you a job is the least of what I owe you. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about you through all this, it’s that you don’t lie to yourself. Are you any good?” The smile came back, flirting with the corners of Sebastian’s mouth. Kurt found he liked it when Sebastian smiled.

“I’m amazing,” he said. It was the one thing no one could ever make him doubt.

“So is that what you want? Will you let me take you to the city?”

Kurt shook his head. “I’m not done with the things I know.”

Sebastian leaned against the post he held. “I’m sorry. Continue.”

His regal tone made Kurt smile. He used the smile to stall for time. This next thing was harder, but Kurt knew he had to say it. He didn’t know why it mattered so much that Sebastian should understand, but it did. “I know,” he began, but his voice came breathy with uncertainty and he cleared it sharply. “I know,” clearer now, stronger, “that there were things we did, together, in that room, that I wanted. Things that I loved.”

“Kurt you don’t –”

“Stop!” Kurt jumped up from the bed and faced Sebastian square on. “Just stop it. Stop telling me how I feel! Didn’t you just say that you know I never lie to myself?”

“Yes, but –”

“I wanted you to touch me. And kiss me. I wanted to feel your body around me.” Kurt could feel himself blushing but he didn’t care, he plunged forward, because he needed to make Sebastian understand. “I wanted all of it. The things you did, the things _I_ did. Gods, even the pain . . .”

He could see Sebastian’s eyes darkening, in spite of himself. “Kurt, don’t.”

“No. This is important. It’s important to me. Because I _know_.” Kurt couldn’t quite face Sebastian with this, though, he moved away, passing so close to where Sebastian clung to the bedpost, the green eyes following him as he retreated to the relative safety of the window. The horses were still there, down in the court, tied to his post, waiting. Kurt watched them twitch and swish at flies as he spoke. “I know . . . that I used to think about it, before. All the things you talked about. Being dominated. Or controlled.” Kurt groped for the right words to explain what he’d felt as he touched himself so long ago in his tiny bed over the tailor shop. “I was ashamed of it. I thought it was even more wrong than wanting other boys. But I couldn’t help it. It was the miller’s apprentice, in my fantasy. He was so beautiful. I wanted to . . . oh gods,” Kurt pressed his forehead to the cool glass, to give himself the courage to say things he’d never spoken out loud before. “I wanted to _serve_ him. That’s how I thought of it. And let him _take_ me. Any way he wanted.”

Behind him Sebastian made a sound, and Kurt gathered up enough courage to turn and face the play of emotions coloring Sebastian’s expression. “But you have to understand – I was so ashamed. I thought I must be the only person in the whole world who could ever want something like that. And I thought I would always be alone because who could ever want that? Or me? And then . . .”

Kurt couldn’t quite bring himself to finish the thought. Sebastian moved closer, as close as he could get without letting go of the bed post. “And then Gavin,” he murmured.

Kurt nodded. “And then,” he shrugged. He couldn’t say any more. He didn’t have to. He could see on Sebastian’s face that he understood what Kurt couldn’t put into words. The way his simple adolescent fantasies had been broken apart and perverted. Forced to act them out, against his will, his own sexual urges used as weapon against him . . . at some point it had all blurred together until it was hard for even Kurt himself to really understand where the edges were between what he chose and what he was forced to do. He had to draw those borders for himself now. It was the only way to reclaim some small part of his own innocence.

“And then me,” Sebastian said, just as quietly.

“No! That’s what I’m trying to make you see.”

“I was there, Kurt. You can’t rewrite it. You didn’t want anything to do with me. I pushed and pushed –”

“Sebastian.” The green eyes softened when Kurt said his name. That gave Kurt even more to be confused about. “Could you please just shut up and let me talk?”

Sebastian nodded silently.

“Yes, I was afraid of you at first. But then you offered me a choice, remember? And I decided – I _did_ ,” he emphasized when Sebastian opened his mouth to speak again. “I get that you believe I wasn’t free to make a choice but that’s not how it felt to me. I decided to let myself have the terrible, shameful things I’d always wanted, just once.  And that,” Kurt realized it as he said it, finally putting his finger on what he’d felt then, and now, “was when I changed.” He took a step forward, away from the safety of the window, toward Sebastian. And like they were dancing, Sebastian took a step back, keeping distance between them. “You were something I’d never believed existed, standing right in front of me. And somehow you could see into my head and you wanted the things that I wanted. You wanted me. Not a powerless slave, but _me_. I know you did. And the things we did . . .” Kurt had to stop and close his eyes because those things came crowding back to him, images and sensations, the sounds of endearments and soft sighs. And to his complete surprise desire began to flutter in his belly. When he opened his eyes he found Sebastian watching him with a hunger that he wasn’t quite quick enough to hide.

He took another step closer; Sebastian another away.

“You made it alright,” Kurt said.

Sebastian shook his head in desperate negation. “There wasn’t anything right about you being a slave.”

“Not that. You made it alright to want the things I wanted. Because you wanted them too and you weren’t ashamed or afraid of them. It was like a dream to do all the things we did. There was so much joy in it. I never felt that before. I never knew it was possible. Maybe I didn’t have time for shame or maybe it was because _you_ didn’t. But I won’t regret it. I can’t.”

He heard Bess’s words echoed in his own and another piece of understanding fell into place for him.

“So it was my imagination when you attacked me and screamed at me about how I’d fucked with your head and used you and how it wasn’t real –”

“No! Sebastian! You know that was because I thought you’d . . . I thought you were trying to break me down to give away all my secrets. That’s why I . . . because I thought none of it had been real for _you_. I thought I was going to be sent off to the prince with nothing left to protect me. I attacked you _because_ it had been so real to me. Don’t pretend you don’t understand that.”

Sebastian groaned, a sound of pure frustration. “It was fucked up, Kurt! As fucked up as a thing can be.”

Kurt nodded. “Probably. But this is what I know. I know that I wanted those things. I may never be able to want them again, thanks to Gavin, but I did. You showed me how it could be between two people who . . . really desire each other. Tell me you understand that.”

“I understand that that’s how it feels to you,” Sebastian admitted, grudgingly, Kurt thought. “I hope you can understand how it feels to me.”

Kurt took another step closer to Sebastian. To get away from him now Sebastian would have to let go of the bedpost he’d been clinging to like an anchor. He saw the moment Sebastian realized it; saw something like fear flicker across Sebastian’s handsome face before he schooled himself to stillness. The heat in Kurt’s belly liked it. He liked the feeling of power it gave him, like he was the predator now, stalking Sebastian. “Do you regret it?” he asked, using, once again, Bess’s word.

Sebastian looked wary, like he suspected a trap. “I regret what I did. I shouldn’t have –”

“But do you regret what happened between us? The other night . . . the last time?”

“Kurt –”

“Tell me what you said to me when I was falling asleep.”

Sebastian shook his head, his face full of misery. “There’s no point.”

“Tell me anyway.” Kurt stepped still closer, and Sebastian had nowhere to go. Standing so close, remembering, the heat began to spread out from Kurt’s core, tingling down his legs and catching in his throat, breaking his breaths into short almost gasps. And like a little miracle he felt a stirring between his legs, rising, pressing into the unfamiliar restriction of the breeches.

There was too much white in Sebastian’s eyes, like the horses down below shying away from sudden noises. When he spoke he sounded as breathless as Kurt felt.

“I said . . . that I’d never forget that moment.” The words hitched as if they were being dragged from him against his will. “And that I’d think about it when things got too hard for me.”

“Did you mean that?”

“You know I did.”

Closer still, just inches between them; Sebastian strained back but he still wasn’t willing to let go of the post and retreat. Kurt wanted to crow out loud. He had him now. He was so close to stripping away all the pretense and seeing the real Sebastian at last.

“If you regret it so very much then – why would you want to remember it at all?”

Sebastian was taken aback, Kurt could see, and for a moment he could only gape, then he sputtered out, “You’re . . . you’re turning my words around. You don’t understand . . .”

“Then tell me. Why would you want to remember it?”

Sebastian sagged. Kurt could see the fight go out of him. When he looked up at Kurt his eyes were still tired, haggard, but also open and honest, stripped bare of shoulds and musts. “I wanted to remember it because I was happy. Happier than I’ve ever been. And I know I’ll never be that happy again.”

His confession hurt him – it cut to the core of everything he feared, Kurt could see that. And he understood now why he’d needed to see this Sebastian, to know if it was the same man he remembered from a night of kisses and fierce declarations.

“I know something else,” he said.

“You’re not done yet?” Sebastian asked with a grimace.

Kurt shook his head.

“Gods help me,” Sebastian moaned. He pulled himself up straight, still grasping that damned bedpost, facing Kurt’s certainty like he was facing execution.

Kurt stepped closer. He knew Sebastian wouldn’t retreat again. “I know . . . you have the most beautiful bottom lip I’ve ever seen.”

Sebastian’s mouth fell open. He was gaping, literally, like a fish. Kurt wanted to giggle, but he thought it would be most inappropriate under the circumstances.

“What?!”

“Well, your whole mouth really, is lovely, but –”

“What?”

“Don’t let it go to your head though,” Kurt teased. “You’re far from perfect. Your neck is absurdly thick compared to the size of your head and really, that nose belongs on a small woodland creature but your bottom lip –”

“W-what?” Sebastian seemed to have lost the ability to say anything else.

Kurt’s fingers were itching with the need to touch. He knew Sebastian wouldn’t stop him. Sebastian was caught now, off guard; he looked almost hypnotized by Kurt’s approach. And Kurt was all instinct and desire, following his urges without bothering to question them anymore. After all, questions had gotten him nowhere. “I used to stare at that lip, in the room, and wonder what it tasted like. I wanted you to kiss me so badly, but you kept turning away. You drove me crazy. I was desperate to taste it.”

Sebastian stared at Kurt like he’d suddenly started speaking a foreign language. But his tongue slipped out and licked at that pink swell, an involuntary reflex, Kurt was sure, and left it shining damp, reflecting sunlight. “Well you did, didn’t you?” he asked. His voice trembled. The sound of it fed Kurt’s desire and his dick fought harder against the fabric that held it back.

“I don’t remember,” Kurt lied. “I need to taste it again. So I won’t forget.” He didn’t wait for permission. He closed the last few inches between their bodies and stretched that tiny bit to touch his lips to Sebastian’s.

It was so much like the first time that it made Kurt’s heart ache even as the familiarity gave him confidence. He could feel Sebastian’s body tremble against his own but the soft lips stayed still. He wrapped one arm around Sebastian’s waist and drew himself closer, his other hand slipped behind Sebastian’s neck and ruffled into the short hair on the back of his head. Sebastian was unyielding iron but Kurt could wait. He didn’t care about timetables or search parties or the need to just get the fuck out of Eastreach. This was all he wanted now. He licked gently along Sebastian’s bottom lip, waiting for his opening.

When it came it was just like before, swift and powerful, accompanied by a deep groan of surrender that was music to Kurt’s ears. Sebastian finally gave up his grip on the post and took Kurt’s face instead, hands warm and trembling gentle on his cheeks, he surged forward, clinging to Kurt’s mouth like it had become his anchor now, and his tongue met Kurt’s and pushed past, deep into his mouth. He kissed Kurt like it was the last kiss of his life, and Kurt could feel all of his longing and fear and desire in it. He pulled Sebastian closer, they held each other up and pushed each other higher, Kurt’s heart was racing a mile a minute and he was hard, so hard, his cock ached and he could feel Sebastian’s too, rigid under his own breeches, and it was perfect.

It was perfect until Sebastian pulled away with such abrupt violence that it left Kurt’s mouth stinging where the suction broke.

“Fuck, fuck I’m sorry Kurt. I shouldn’t have . . .”

Alone, again, standing so close but not touching, shaking like a leaf, Kurt wanted to scream. It had felt so right, finally. All the decisions he had to make and the feelings he should or shouldn’t be feeling had disappeared in Sebastian’s arms. He’d felt wanted and hungry and . . . safe.

“Stop talking,” he commanded. He reached for the hem of Sebastian’s shirt and tugged it out of his breeches.

“No, Kurt . . .” Sebastian’s hands grappled at Kurt’s, holding them still. Even that contact soothed the desperation Kurt had felt. He knew what he needed now and he kept his grip on the fabric despite Sebastian’s attempt to dislodge it.

“Do you want me stop?” he asked, pinning Sebastian with his eyes. “The truth. You owe me that. Not what you think you should want or what you think I should do. Do you _want_ me to stop?”

Sebastian was silent for a long moment and Kurt’s heart soared as the moment stretched because he knew Sebastian couldn’t do it. He couldn’t lie, not with Kurt demanding honesty as the least of what he was due.

“No,” Sebastian finally whispered.

Kurt tugged the shirt loose as Sebastian’s hands fell away and pushed it unceremoniously over his head. Sebastian had no choice but to pull it the rest of the way off and Kurt took advantage of his entanglement to pluck at the buttons on his breeches.

“No, Kurt, wait . . .”

“Render’s balls!” Kurt snatched the shirt from Sebastian’s hands and tossed it to the floor. Then he went straight back to the breeches. “You said you didn’t want me to stop.”

“I know what I said, but you –”

“I want _you_ to stop! Stop telling me what I want or need or whatever! I’m so sick of being controlled!”

“I’m not –”

“Yes you are. You don’t want me stop. I don’t want to stop. Don’t you think I deserve to do what I want to do for a change?”

He waited this time, giving Sebastian time to take him in and see, really see, how much Kurt wanted. He wanted Sebastian naked, wanted to see Sebastian’s cock hard for him, and there was fear in Sebastian’s eyes but Kurt couldn’t bring himself to care. He was done worrying about consequences. So very done.

Finally, with a sigh of surrender, Sebastian closed his eyes and that was all the acquiescence Kurt needed. He pressed in to take Sebastian’s lips again while his hands resumed their assault on the buttons. Sebastian let Kurt set the pace this time. His tongue yielded to Kurt's, stroking gently as Kurt explored his mouth with a languidness that was in direct opposition to his attack on the breeches. Sebastian cupped Kurt’s face in his palms again as they kissed, then his fingers slid down Kurt’s spine to pull at Kurt’s new shirt.

“No!” Kurt broke the kiss and left the breeches long enough to push Sebastian’s hands away. Sebastian’s eyes were wide, confused, but Kurt ignored it. Yes, he’d chafed under the restriction of his new clothing but now he knew that this was right, this was what he needed. He wanted _Sebastian_ naked and vulnerable. He wanted to turn the tables. He didn’t care anymore if that was wrong. He shoved the finally-open breeches down Sebastian’s legs, catching his underclothes along with them, and once they’d fallen to the floor and that beautiful cock was free, he pushed Sebastian hard in the middle of the chest, so that he fell backward on his elbows on the bed.

“Gods, Kurt,” Sebastian breathed and he shoved himself up the bed while Kurt climbed on after him.

Kurt didn’t need to say anything. He dove back into their kiss, more intense now, a little frantic as their bodies slotted together and their cocks met, one naked, one clothed, each fully turgid and reaching for the other. He rocked them together, dragging his breeches over Sebastian’s groin, and Sebastian moaned against his lips.

“Does it hurt?” Kurt asked.

“A little,” Sebastian whispered.

“Good.” Kurt rocked again, harder, and Sebastian’s answering moan was louder but he planted his feet and pushed up against Kurt anyhow. Kurt never wanted it to stop. He was hard and taking his pleasure and it felt good in so many more ways that just the physical. Which was not to say the physical wasn’t amazing.

“Fuck, fuck, Kurt,” Sebastian groaned. One hand captured the back of Kurt’s head, holding him kissing-close, the other tightened on his ass and rode it as they ground harder and faster against each other.

Kurt could feel his orgasm building and he waited for the fear and he waited for the instinct to pull back to kick in but nothing . . . nothing . . . there was just pleasure, building, until he had to stop kissing Sebastian just to concentrate on the awareness that he could have this; he could push himself over that edge and no one could snatch it away from him. He let his head fall against Sebastian’s as they strove together toward completion.

“Just a suggestion,” Sebastian panted against his cheek. “You might not want to erupt in the only trousers you own.”

“Shut up,” Kurt growled.

“Yes, sir.” Sebastian might have shrugged but he definitely pulled harder on Kurt’s ass, double-timing their thrusting with grunts that were half-pain, half-pleasure. Kurt fisted the paisley spread until his palms throbbed and thrust for all he was worth, riding waves of pleasure that swelled all through him, flowing freely, until he felt the first peak and pushed up with a cry, spilling hot into his only trousers. He was still shuddering through his orgasm when Sebastian went stiff with his own eruption, silently, pumping his hips in tiny, spasmodic jerks.

When it was over Sebastian fell limp onto the bed and Kurt collapsed on top of him then rolled away, hiding his face in the blanket to stifle himself because suddenly he was laughing, so hard he was shaking, he had to pull his legs into his chest to try and contain the force of it because he was pretty sure it was the height of bad manners to laugh hysterically right after sex.

“Kurt? Oh, Maker, what’s wrong? Kurt . . .” Sebastian tugged at him until he had no choice but to turn over and let him see. And then the mirth couldn’t be contained. It spilled over in peals that filled the room.

Sebastian stared at him like he’d never seen a person laugh before. “Are you laughing?” He looked so concerned, like maybe he thought he’d broken Kurt for good. The thought only made Kurt laugh harder.

“Would you please tell me why you’re laughing?” Sebastian begged.

“I did it,” Kurt managed to gasp. “I fucking did it. He didn’t take that away from me. Fuck Reginald, and fuck Gavin and fuck his fucking _dog_ , he didn’t break me.” As he gained control Kurt realized that the mess in his breeches was sliding across his skin. “Dear gods, that feels disgusting.”

His ability to speak seemed to reassure Sebastian. “I told you not to come in your pants,” he said archly.

“Well fuck you!” That set Kurt off again and this time Sebastian joined in and they lay side-by-side and laughed until tears slid down both their faces and all they could do was gasp helplessly for breath.

As they came back down to earth Kurt felt a tremble of panic. He wasn’t sure what to do, what it meant, if he should reach for Sebastian or move away, but before he could make a decision Sebastian rolled onto one side to face him. He was still smiling. It was soft and relaxed. Kurt liked it.

“Gods, Kurt. You might as well just kill me now.”

Despite his humor, Kurt tried to look like he was considering it. “Well, I’m pretty sure the penalty for regicide is more than I want to pay. I just got my freedom back after all. But out of curiosity, why?” Kurt asked

Kurt could see Sebastian struggle to decide whether he wanted to answer that or not. Eventually the shoulder not pressed into the bed shrugged. “I just don’t think it’s ever going to get any better for me than this. And that’s saying something, because this about as fucked up as a thing can be. But that’s okay. I’m glad that Gavin didn’t take it away from you. You deserve to have everything good in your life. I’ll always be happy that I had a part in that. I’m glad you’ll remember me for the good as well as the bad.”

Kurt liked the part where they were laughing, not the part where Sebastian looked sad again. He heard all the implications in what Sebastian was saying but he couldn’t find the words inside himself to respond. Thoughts were coalescing at the back of his mind but they were still too fragile to name.

But it was alright. As silence lingered Sebastian smiled again. He wasn’t expecting anything, Kurt realized. He wouldn’t ask for anything Kurt wasn’t ready to give. Kurt was grateful for that. Instead of addressing any of the pressing questions Sebastian’s words raised, he arched an eyebrow and let himself smirk at Sebastian like Sebastian had so often at him. “So . . . Maurice?”

It caught Sebastian off guard and he laughed again. “Shut up! It was my grandfather’s name.”

“Your grandfather was Harold.”

“You know what I mean.”

“You have a strange family.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Sebastian shook his head.

“Would you change it?” Kurt asked abruptly. The words surprised even himself.

“My family?”

“No. If you could go back in time, would you change what you did?”

Sebastian was silent for a long moment. And then, “No.”

“No?” Kurt breathed. A weight settled in his stomach.

Sebastian bit his lip and rolled away onto his back again to stare up at the fabric canopy. “If I really had that power, I’d go all the way back. I’d make sure you were never taken in the first place.”

“Really?” The weight started to lighten. “But then we never would have met.”

Another long moment of silence. It was Kurt’s turn to roll up onto an elbow so he could watch Sebastian study the canopy.

“Maybe. But maybe not,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Kurt asked.

“Well, you said you were always planning to come to Concordia. And that you’re a virtuoso tailor. And my mother always has her eye out for the next big fashion trend . . .”

“Ah.”

“As soon as she heard about this new genius dressmaker I’m certain she’d have had you in her private apartments so fast your head would spin.”

“Really?” Kurt smiled. Sebastian was even more ambitious for him than Kurt would have been for himself. He’d definitely meant to end up making clothes for royalty, but at least he was reasonable about the time frame.

Sebastian nodded at the ceiling. “Really. And I think maybe I would have come in to tell her something and found you there, poring over fabric swatches.”

“You’ve given this a lot of thought,” Kurt said drily.

“I may have,” Sebastian admitted. “It’s possible I slipped into fantasy a time or two when I was stuck with Gavin droning on about his income.”

“So what then?” Kurt asked. He was getting caught up in the fantasy in spite of himself. “Would you have invited me to come dine with you in royal splendor?”

“Oh no, I’m much more subtle than that. I would have suddenly remembered a pressing need for a new waistcoat.”

Kurt grinned. “Oh, that’s not subtle, sweetie. That’s spineless.”

“Hey!” Sebastian turned to face Kurt, his face a mask of mock-outrage.

They both ignored the _sweetie_.

“My way is _romantic_ ,” Sebastian insisted. “Not spineless.”

“Do tell.”

“I’d take my time. Not barrel in at you before we’d barely spoken. I’d overwhelm you with my casual charm.”

“Oh, of course.”

“And then eventually, when we were looking at our own swatches, we’d reach for the same one at the same time . . .”

“Really a disturbing amount of thought.”

“. . . and our fingers would brush together – our first touch. And I’d look at you and I’d just _know._ ”

They stared at each other now, caught up in the fantasy, the past, the present, the future in the real world forgotten. “Know what?” Kurt asked in a quiet voice.

“That we were meant to be.”

“It’s a beautiful fantasy,” Kurt said. “I wish it could have been like that.”

They just looked, for the longest moment, and at the same time they both slowly drifted back to reality. Kurt could see the moment the walls came back up behind Sebastian’s eyes. He wondered if Sebastian saw the same in him. Whether he did or not, Sebastian rolled off the bed, leaving a hint of warmth behind him. “I should clean up,” he said, bending to collect his clothes, “and we need to find you something new to wear. Bess is going to kill me. If you can think up some other way we can say we made your things unwearable, I’d certainly appreciate it.” He huffed a little laugh, but it was forced and unnatural. Not like before. He was already putting distance between them, preparing for the end.

It was Kurt’s turn to fall back onto the bed and stare at the canopy. _Meant to be_. Sebastian had said it twice now and Kurt couldn’t avoid the obvious conclusion. That’s what Sebastian felt. That he, Kurt, was the person Sebastian had always dreamed of finding. Even after everything . . . or maybe it was because of everything. Kurt wasn’t sure which of those, if either, made it feel okay. He wasn’t sure he cared.

“Sebastian?”

Kurt’s voice stopped Sebastian halfway to the hidden washroom door. He sighed deeply, once, before he turned to face him. He stood in the middle of the room, the Crown Prince of the realms, naked and smeared with the eruption that Kurt had dragged from him.

“I’ll come with you.”

Surprise, then relief chased across Sebastian’s face before he managed to school his expression back to carefully neutral. “Thank the gods,” he said. “I know I don’t deserve it, but it would kill me not to be able to see you safe. We’ll find you an amazing place, and I promise as soon as you’re settled I’ll be gone. You won’t have to . . .”

“You don’t understand.” Kurt slipped off the bed, wincing at the wet press of his trousers, and moved close to Sebastian, close enough to put a hand flat on his bare chest. “I want to come . . . _with_ you.”

The clothes in Sebastian’s arms hit the floor with a soft _ploof_. “You . . . what?”

In an unexpected rush of clarity Kurt realized that, despite the mess, his clothes felt much more natural on his body now when he had Sebastian standing naked before him. That had to be deeply wrong. He didn’t remotely care. “It’s probably completely fucked up,” he said out loud, because he was deep in uncharted territory now but he knew he had to be honest, “and I might wake up tomorrow or next week or next year –”

“Next year?” Sebastian’s voice was shaking again.

“– and realize what I’m doing and hate myself for it. And hate _you_.  And I have no idea what I’ll want, I’m such a mess Sebastian, I might be more trouble than I’m worth –”

“Gods, Kurt, fuck –” Sebastian was gasping and pale. Kurt wondered if he might pass out. He hoped not. He’d never be able to explain that to Bess.

“– and if I’m being perfectly honest, it could just be because you’re a prince, there is definitely a fairy tale factor here that I can't deny but . . .” Kurt stopped to breathe then couldn’t breathe because Sebastian was looking at him like _he_ was the prince, riding to the rescue on his trusty steed and sweeping Sebastian completely off his feet.

“You make me feel safe,” Kurt confessed at last. Saying it out loud made him feel light enough to float away. “You’re the only thing that feels safe to me right now. And I want to feel safe. I think I deserve that.”

“You do, gods, of course you do.”

“Also I am so not done kissing you.”

Kurt didn’t necessarily mean that to be a request, but Sebastian must have heard it as one because in a trice he was pulling Kurt close and kissing him with – for the first time – a confident determination that made Kurt’s toes tingle and his dick twinge happily. It was their first kiss, he told himself as Sebastian’s tongue stroked his and he pushed up to his tiptoes to soften the angle. The first one he hadn’t had to badger Sebastian into. And it was definitely the best so far. There were things Kurt wasn’t quite ready to say, but he put all of his emotion into that kiss and by the time they separated he felt breathless and giddy. Just like he’d always dreamed he’d feel after his first kiss.

“I haven’t even asked you if you want me to come,” Kurt said, but he was smiling so Sebastian would know it was only a tease.

“Are you kidding? I’m terrified right now that I’m going to wake up at any moment.”

“I can’t promise you anything. You could end up feeling like you were living your life waiting for the ax to fall.”

Sebastian’s fingers touched Kurt’s cheek and stroked reverently down his jaw, down his neck, to linger at the collar of his shirt. “Well maybe that’s what I deserve,” he said quietly.

Kurt shook his head. “I don’t want to be the stick you punish yourself with.”

The sadness came back into Sebastian’s green eyes, but it was different now, not as heavy or dark. “Honestly? There’s always going to be little bit of that, Kurt. I can’t look at you without remembering what I did to you and hating myself for it. But, gods, I’ll take it. In a heartbeat. To be with you – even if it’s just for a day – it’s everything. It’s all I care about. I’ll take for as long as I can have you and then I’ll be grateful for every minute it lasted.” Then he smiled and the sadness cleared. “Besides, it’s not like I don’t come with issues too.”

“You?” Kurt asked.

“Everyone at court accepts me as reversed but . . . I have no idea what people will think when there’s someone who’s more than just a casual fuck. And, oh crap, what I said before is still true. I have to provide an heir. And that has to happen with a . . . wife.” He suddenly looked alarmed, like he hadn’t quite realized until he said it what a difficult situation he was putting himself in. “Fuck, you might want to rethink this whole thing.”

“No.” Kurt took Sebastian’s hands in his own and clasped them tight. “We’ll figure it out. I know we can. Fate owes me that. I’m not going to let it drag me through hell to bring me to you then break it all apart just because you have to marry some girl. I will kick its ass before I’ll let that happen.”

Sebastian laughed. “Gods, I believe you.”

“Good. Now go find me some clean clothes because this is so much worse than disgusting.”

“I have a better idea.” Sebastian let go of one of Kurt’s hands and bent to scoop up his clothes again. Then he walked backward, pulling Kurt with him, toward the luxurious washroom with its hot water and pond-sized washtub.

They really didn’t have time, Kurt thought. And as tempting as that washtub was, soon he’d be at the royal palace – tremors tickled his belly at the thought – where he was sure the washtubs were just as beautiful and huge as the one behind the hidden door. And Bess was certain to come and yell at them for indulging when they really needed to be on the move. But then again, they really only had to get as far as Eastreach Village today. And the green eyes looking back at him weren’t sad or tormented or dark with shadows. They sparkled with only one emotion now. It looked to Kurt like hope.

Kurt smiled at Crown Prince Harold Sebastian Alastair Maurice, and let himself be led.


	13. Chapter 13

Master Kurt Hummel – it was still new enough to give Kurt a thrill every time he so much as thought it – lounged on the wide cushioned window seat in the sunny sitting room, pencil in hand and drawing pad balanced against his bent knees. The light streaming through the big bow window was exactly perfect for sketching, but that was only part of the reason he’d chosen that spot to work in on this particular afternoon.

Master Quigley, the resident palace tailor – the _other_ resident palace tailor Kurt reminded himself – had workrooms behind his shop in the bazaar that circled the palace’s huge public courtyard. Those rooms were Kurt’s favorite place to sew. There the familiarity of table, board, and bench and the hypnotic repetition of stitches his hands could make without his mind’s consultation, wove a kind of spell around Kurt. They took him back in time to that other bench and board, with a different man sitting across from him. Despite the fact that the courtyard around them could have easily held the entire village of Pluna, at Master Quigley’s board Kurt often forgot for hours on end that he’d ever been kidnapped, tortured, beaten, or rescued by a handsome prince who carried such heavy burdens. While he sewed Kurt could be the boy he’d been when his greatest worry was mastering the infernal prickstitch.

But when he imagined and drew – when he created in the figurative sense instead of the literal – Kurt always chose the exact opposite. Here in the rooms he’d shared with Sebastian for eight months now – longer than his captivity he was always shocked to realize. This place belonged to the Kurt Hummel who’d survived terrors worse than the Render’s void and come out the other side alive and determined to take his place in the world. He had discovered in the months he’d been in Concordia City that he couldn’t create the truly beautiful things that he was becoming increasingly known for without embracing all the ways he’d been changed since he’d fallen unconscious on the floor of his garret room. It was as inescapable as it was hard to accept. No matter how he tried, his best work was always done here, anchored in the reality of who he had become.

So Kurt sat in the window where the sunbeams illuminated his paper and his soul, simply for the sake of his work and not at all because the window also looked down onto the formal entrance court of the palace. And he smiled to himself because he was man enough to admit, if only to himself, that that was a complete lie.

Still, he kept his eyes on his work and not on the long road that circled toward him, up the highest hill in Concordia to the royal palace at the summit. If he glanced out the window, it was only to be inspired by the breathtaking view of the ocean beyond the city’s port and harbor. The ocean was his touchstone for this gown. King Harold’s fiftieth birthday would be celebrated in mere months and Crown Princess Larkin would be the most beautifully dressed woman present, if Kurt had anything to say about it. Which he did. If Sebastian was lucky he’d get a new suit as well, in a subtly matching theme. Perhaps something invoking a ship, riding the waves of his wife’s skirts. Kurt smiled again. Yes. That would be a metaphor the public would adore. And even better, it would make Sebastian blush and scowl and Kurt and Larkin could laugh at him. Gently, of course. Sebastian did not like being laughed at.

Kurt himself would be in something equally regal, but entirely different. He liked to think he was doing his part for the realms by giving the court and the people of Concordia a visual reminder of the unity of their future king and queen. It wasn’t quite as great an incentive as making Sebastian squirm, but it was more morally defensible. And he could afford to be magnanimous. After all, Sebastian had made it his mission to ensure that no one mistook the reality of their unconventional situation.

Ocean and ship. It was perfect. Inspired afresh – obviously sitting by the window had been exactly the right decision – Kurt applied himself to his sketch. But he’d only achieved a few contour lines when activity below drew his eyes back to the window. People were beginning to gather in front of the splendid arch that marked the entry into the palace proper. Far down toward the bottom of the hill Kurt could just make out a caravan of shining black carriages beginning the long ascent, bringing Prince Harold and Princess Larkin – along with a small army of servants and loads of luggage – back from the third of their traditional honeymoon visits to notable nobles of the realms. Kurt had accompanied them on the first two. They’d all agreed that it was important the people see them as a united front. But this time it had been out of the question.

Kurt was recovering. He was – he wasn’t even lying a little when he assured Sebastian that he was doing better every day. He was busy now. He’d achieved his mastery, and in record time no less. He had more work than he could handle. He’d even taken on apprentices. Passing on Master Neric’s knowledge was as important to him as making beautiful clothes. He lived in a palace. He regularly took tea with the queen of the realms and he slept every night with His Royal Highness Crown Prince Harold Sebastian Alastair Maurice. They lived together openly and the whole world knew how Sebastian felt about him. It was more than he’d ever dared to dream of. He was _happy_.

But no matter how often Kurt affirmed it, sadness always lurked around the corners of Sebastian’s eyes and sometimes Kurt would look up from a sketch and catch him staring, like Kurt was a beautiful and strange bird he couldn’t quite believe he’d captured. Nothing Kurt said could banish the dark uncertainty from Sebastian’s face. Well, there was one thing Kurt could have said that might. But he still didn’t trust it, even when he wanted to say it. _I love you_ felt too much like a promise Kurt wasn’t yet sure he could keep. Instead he smiled and touched and did everything else he could think of to show Sebastian that he was content. Still he knew a part of Sebastian was always waiting for the day Kurt would come to his senses and abandon him.

But today was about happy things, so Kurt shook off that thought and busied himself sketching out the shape of a sweeping formal skirt. He kept half an eye on the progress of the carriages as he worked. When the first and most ornate of the bunch turned and rolled past the shining palace gates he abandoned all pretense and stared down into the courtyard.

The king and queen were there now, distinguished from their gathered subjects only by the simple coronets that glittered on their heads. Kurt smiled down on them. King Harold and Queen Wilamina had turned out to be just exactly the kind of people you’d expect would produce a son like Sebastian. And they loved their son enough to accept his chosen partner, even thought that partner was a man and a thoroughly common one to boot. The past eight months had been fraught with negotiations, concessions, and changes to a social and political structure that had stood firm for more than a century. And despite all that, Kurt had never felt the slightest reproach from either of them. They’d met him with nothing but kindness that had grown to friendship and even fondness as time had gone by. They were extraordinary, in Kurt’s opinion, and he was beginning to suspect that at least half of Sebastian’s reticence to be king came from knowing what kind of precedent he would have to live up to.

Surrounding the royal couple in the courtyard were all the members of the king’s cabinet – at least those who hadn’t accompanied the Crown Prince and Princess on their journey. Important nobles and senior staff members arranged themselves behind the royals in order of rank, following a careful protocol they all seemed to have memorized from birth. Kurt could have been among them had he wished. Their majesties would have welcomed him. But he’d found that running to meet Sebastian like a pining lover wasn’t quite to his taste. He was an important and busy man in his own right. A craftmaster with responsibilities he couldn’t simply drop because his man had come home. And his refusal to play the part of eager paramour had given him and Sebastian their own little ritual for the rare occasions that they had to spend time apart. Plus it gave Kurt the chance to watch Sebastian, unseen, from above, and let his eagerness for their reunion play out strictly in private.

As the carriages trundled through the gates, most turned to pass into a side court for unloading. Only two stopped in front of the assemblage under the arch. Kurt knew the first would be carrying Sebastian and Larkin and when the coachman pulled the perfectly matched horses to a halt a pair of footmen in stiff livery rushed to stand at attention on either side of the door. One opened it and flipped down the steps built into the floor while the other extended a gloved hand to its occupants.

Larkin alighted first in a bright gold gown of Kurt’s design. No sooner had her feet touched the ground than her head tilted up, searching the high windows. When her eyes found Kurt she grinned a greeting and gave him a wave that turned into a flourish indicating the carefully placed tilt of her wide-brimmed hat. Kurt smiled back at her and pantomimed applause. Larkin had come to them rough around the fashion edges, but Kurt’s tutelage was paying off. The princess curtsied playfully then turned and ran to embrace the king and queen. Kurt didn’t watch her go. His eyes were fixed on the carriage door.

Sebastian took his time. Most of the ministers had exited the second carriage before his black-booted foot appeared on the carriage step, his hand curled around the doorway, and then he was there, standing tall in the sunlight holding the full attention of everyone present.

Sebastian was back. Kurt’s heart fluttered like a baby bird trying to keep itself aloft. Relief trickled down his spine, loosening muscles sore from three weeks of suppressed tension. He huffed a little, laughing at himself. Every time they were separated Kurt was sure he’d finally managed to conquer the anxiety of being away from Sebastian. And every time they came back together he realized how utterly he’d failed. This, he thought as he drank in Sebastian’s form with hungry eyes, was another reason he couldn’t give Sebastian the words he knew Sebastian longed for. How was he supposed to tell real love from the rush of emotion that came with simply feeling safe again? How could he separate gratitude from sexual longing from adoration? If only . . . but as he’d tried to tell Sebastian a million times, _if only_ was a useless waste of time. Things were as they were. Whatever that was.

Kurt shook the thought away. Sebastian was back. There was no point in dwelling on emotions that he couldn’t define. There were plenty that he could, in great detail, and he was beyond ready to start discussing those with Sebastian. His dick gave a happy throb, just in case he needed a reminder of what those feelings were. He didn’t, of course. Not with Sebastian below, striding across the courtyard toward his parents with his hair dancing in the breeze coming off the sea.

He was naturally regal. It had surprised Kurt. Not wanting to be a prince didn’t stop him from holding himself like one. Watching him here where he was most at home – despite his protestations – it was hard to imagine him being able pass himself off as a steward. And yet even though his back was straighter and his head held higher he never seemed stiff or formal. He’d grown comfortable in his royal skin. Accepted his destiny, Bess had said. Kurt had never forgotten that she’d also said he was at least partly responsible for that change. He liked that idea more and more as time went on.

Down in the courtyard Sebastian greeted his parents without turning to look up at Kurt’s window.

Kurt let his sketch fall to the bench beside him and drank in his fill of the graceful lines of Sebastian’s body. It had only been three weeks and Kurt had been so busy that the time certainly hadn’t dragged. But it was their longest separation yet so Kurt felt fully justified letting his eyes linger on the broad shoulders and firm ass – thank the gods and tailors everywhere for split overcoats – until the happy little family group had moved into the palace. As soon as their backs were turned their carriages followed the others around the side of the palace toward to the stableyard and Kurt turned his attention back to his design. At least he pretended to. In his head he was counting Sebastian’s strides as he made his way through the palace. Sooner than he’d expected – but not soon enough – he heard mumbled voices outside the door. The guard stationed there swung it open. Kurt held tight to his sketch but when Sebastian stepped across the threshold Kurt couldn’t bring himself to pretend to work any longer.

Sebastian entered with a flourish, cocky grin firmly in place. Kurt sat up straighter but didn’t rise. He quirked an eyebrow at Sebastian’s dramatics but Sebastian’s grin only widened. Behind him two burly footmen pushed through the door, struggling under the weight of the royal trunk.

“Just leave it in the bedroom,” Sebastian commanded. “We’ll deal with it later.”

“As you say, sir.” The lead servant nodded and led the other down the hall to their chamber.

They were, briefly, alone. Sebastian didn’t speak. But he let the grin drop to a provocative smirk. Kurt stayed put on his cushioned seat but he didn’t even try to tear his eyes away from the toned body and pink lips across the room. Letting his want show still felt new to him, but Sebastian’s response to it always made the risk worthwhile.

There was a thump from down the hall then the two servants appeared again. “That’s done then, Your Royal Highness,” the lead man said.

Kurt wondered if anyone besides him ever noticed the way Sebastian’s left eye twitched and the curve of his smile faltered for an instant anytime he was addressed with his brother’s title. The servant certainly didn’t. He sketched a bow in Sebastian’s direction that was echoed by the other man, then turned and bowed to Kurt as well. “Master,” he said by way of greeting, then both servants were gone.

There was always such relief in servants’ voices when they used Kurt’s new title. Finally he had a place in the hierarchy that defined court life. Technically, he’d been Royal Consort for months, but Royal Consort was a title Sebastian had invented and didn’t come with an honorific to make servants feel comfortable.

“Master,” Sebastian intoned once the door had closed and they were alone. “I like it.”

“Not half as much as I do,” Kurt said.

Neither of them moved. Sebastian leaned back against the wall behind him like he had nowhere else to be, and Kurt rested on the window seat, one foot on the floor, the other bent up on the seat so that his legs were spread ever so casually. They stared at each other, and the hunger crackled in the air between them. Kurt wanted to run to Sebastian, of course, but this was what they did. Like a game. He couldn’t even remember how it had started but every reunion was a competition to see who would break first and reach out to touch. They would circle each other, both pretending not to need as much as they did and drawing out the anticipation until it became too much and someone broke. Someone was usually Kurt. He blamed Sebastian’s lifelong royal training in self-control. But today Kurt was determined to win. And he had a secret weapon.

“I missed you,” Sebastian purred.

“I suppose the bed was a little cold without you,” Kurt retaliated.

“So you noticed I was gone.”

“What can I say? I missed the body heat.”

“Liar.” Sebastian’s eyes twinkled. “You missed the fucking.”

Kurt didn’t honor that with an answer. “How was Eastreach?” he asked instead.

Sebastian made a face. “Exactly like you’d imagine. Being back there was like a reliving a bad dream all over again.”

“You knew it would be.”

“Speaking of bad dreams . . .” Sebastian arched an eyebrow at Kurt.

Kurt sighed. “A few. I survived.”

“Kurt.”

“Sebastian.” Kurt matched Sebastian’s reproving tone. “They’re just nightmares. I barely even remember them. I honestly think they’re harder on you than they are on me.”

He was telling the truth. While it was certainly shocking to wake up in a cold sweat with tears running down his face, Kurt usually retained nothing more from his nightmares than a shapeless sense of terror. It was Sebastian who had to hold him while he cried out from horrors Sebastian could all too easily imagine, or – worse yet – who had to huddle trembling on the other side of the room on the nights when Kurt lashed out at _him_ , screaming and kicking him away. Sometimes Kurt didn’t wake up at all, and he only knew he’d had a nightmare by Sebastian’s dark circled, haunted eyes over the breakfast table.

“I don’t want to talk about nightmares,” Kurt said firmly. “I’m fine. You’ve been gone for three weeks,” he flashed a provocative smirk, “and I have a present for you.”

For a moment Kurt worried that Sebastian wasn’t going to let it go. But then he smiled and said, “I’m the one who went away. Shouldn’t I be bringing the presents?”

“Please. What could you possibly bring from there that I’d want?”

He’d intended it to come out light and nonchalant but Kurt could hear the bitterness in the words and Sebastian certainly did as well. His expression shifted and for a moment he looked painfully young. He _was_ young, so was Kurt. They were both hardly more than boys, wrestling with so much more than they should have to bear.

Kurt gave Sebastian a rueful smile and Sebastian returned it. “How about news?” Sebastian asked. “I have some I think you’ll like.”

“News of the duke’s slow and painful death?”

“Sadly, no,” Sebastian said. “But at least I can promise you no one else is going through what you did.”

Kurt sighed. He’d really hoped they were done with serious topics. He wanted the Sebastian who would tease him about fucking. He wanted to be kissed for hours, and held in warm arms. He wanted to watch desire banish the sadness that lurked so close in Sebastian’s eyes. But Sebastian was like a dog with a bone with it came to needing to make sure Kurt was okay. That was a good thing, Kurt told himself. Usually.

“We went over the whole place, towers to dungeons,” Sebastian was saying. “Talk about a nightmare. But there’s nothing. No one’s been taken. No one’s going to be taken again.”

“He would have expected you to look. He might have hidden –”

Sebastian shook his head. “We searched at night after he was asleep. He didn’t know. I even checked his bedroom while he was snoring away.”

Kurt had to laugh at that. “You did not sneak into the bedroom of the Duke of Eastreach in the middle of the night.”

“Ask Tom. He kept watch while I peeked under the bed.”

“You’re insane.”

“I also checked in with all of my spies. No one’s seen anything.”

“Are you sure they’re still your spies?” Kurt asked. “Men can be bought. With more than just money.”

“Which is why I also pay two scullery maids and a laundress. He’s not going to do it again. He can’t.”

“Well I suppose that is good news,” Kurt said. “It makes me feel better.”

“Oh fuck!” Sebastian’s eyebrows climbed his forehead. “I almost forgot! I have some even better news. Well, maybe not better, but different. And good!”

Kurt laughed at his fumbling. And he kept laughing as Sebastian finally crossed the room and sat on the opposite end of the window seat, pulling one leg up onto it in a mirror image of Kurt’s posture. The toes of their boots touched, but that didn’t count. Only skin to skin touching counted. Still, Sebastian had moved when Kurt hadn’t. One point for him.

“So, news?” Kurt smiled as he said it.

“Larkin,” Sebastian said, letting it linger for effect, “is pregnant.”

The breath left Kurt’s lungs in a whoosh of genuine surprise. “Oh my gods! Sebastian! That’s amazing.”

“It’s way the fuck more than amazing. Do you realize what this means?”

Kurt realized what it meant. He could see it, sitting on Sebastian’s lap, reaching out for _him_ , a little boy with curious green eyes and wavy chestnut hair that shone in the sunlight and a smile that made Kurt’s heart ache.

“Well it . . . means I’m going to have a dozen women begging me to make them gowns for the name day ceremony,” he stammered, still bewitched by the vision of baby Sebastian, “and, gods! Another couple of months and Larkin won’t fit into anything, my design’s going to have to be completely different . . . thank the gods I hired three apprentices. And Master Quigley’s going to have a complete breakdown when he hears . . .”

Sebastian dismissed all that with a wave of his hand. “Much more to the point it means that between the pregnancy and nursing – because my perfect wife already insists she’s doing that herself – I’ll probably have a good two years before I have to do . . . _that_ . . . again.” He shuddered dramatically, just to drive home the level of his disgust with _that_. Which made Kurt feel warm and happy, although Sebastian didn’t need to know that.

“Larkin is a treasure,” he chided. “You don’t even begin to deserve her. Don’t forget we couldn’t do any of this without her.”

“Larkin is a gift from the gods,” Sebastian allowed, “but she’s a gift with girl parts. And I like boy parts.” He smirked and slid his foot between Kurt’s legs to press the sole of his boot against Kurt’s crotch. “Lucky for you.”

Kurt’s dick really, really liked the pressure from Sebastian’s foot. But it was a trap. Sebastian was just trying to lull him into being the first to touch. Well Master Kurt Hummel would not be so easily won over. Not this time anyway. He pulled his face into a mask of stern disapproval. “It’s not like she wants to be doing it any more than you do. And she really does try to make it easier for you, you know.”

Sebastian’s foot froze and his eyes narrowed. “What do you mean? How do you know . . .?” Narrow eyes went wide as the implication hit him. “Are you _talking_ to her about it? Are you . . . oh my gods Kurt. Please tell me you’re not giving her _tips?_ ”

Sebastian’s voice and eyebrows went so high Kurt wanted to giggle but he wisely stifled that urge and instead shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance. “She cares about you. We both do. Is it wrong to want to try to help make your unpleasant duty a little less . . . unpleasant?”

Sebastian’s head fell back against the wall with a thump. “Render, just take me now,” he prayed to the ceiling.

“Stop being a baby. Concentrate on the happy things. For two whole years the only person you have to worry about satisfying sexually is me.” Kurt was proud of himself for managing to not sound smug. After all, he loved Larkin. But he couldn’t say he’d be sad to not have Sebastian doing . . . _that_ . . . for a while. “And then you only have to get her pregnant one more time and –”

“I’m free forever,” Sebastian breathed, like he hadn’t put the pieces together until Kurt said it out loud. “Maybe life is worth living after all.”

“Ooh, but what if it’s a girl?” Kurt asked.

Sebastian didn’t even consider letting that thought dampen his mood. “Two children.” He held up two fingers for emphasis. “That’s what I promised and that’s what I’m going to deliver.”

“Who’s going to deliver?”

“You know what I mean.”

“What if they’re both girls?”

Sebastian blew out a puff of air and glared at Kurt. “Then I will personally murder all the members of my father’s cabinet, appoint puppets who’ll do anything I say, and rewrite the constitution so that women can inherit the throne. Two children. That’s all. If they come out puppies then a puppy shall rule.” He pressed his foot down again, pretending to threaten Kurt’s dick. “Any objections?”

“Much as I want to be appalled by your callous disregard for tradition and human life,” Kurt teased, “I have to admit your dedication to being mine and mine alone is very compelling.”

“Good. Because I believe I was promised a present. Yet I see nothing.”

That was Kurt’s cue and he was more than ready to move their little reunion along to the fun part. Smiling, he slid around Sebastian’s boot and pushed up onto his knees, then he shuffled forward until he was straddling Sebastian’s lap. The sparkle in Sebastian’s eyes darkened to something much more intense and his fingers twitched with the effort of not reaching out to touch. Kurt tasted victory and more and he leaned as close as he dared.

“I waited for you,” Kurt murmured.

“I know you did. I saw you from the carriage. I watched you. I watched you wait for me.” Sebastian’s smile went soft, almost shy, the way it always did when Kurt let his need for him show. Kurt loved that smile so much that it almost undid all his hard work. Almost. But he was determined.

“That’s not what I mean,” he said. “What I meant is, while you were gone. I _waited_. For you.”

It took Sebastian a few seconds to understand. While he waited Kurt dropped lower until he was sitting on Sebastian’s lap, on his half-hard cock. The cock figured it out before Sebastian did. It throbbed to life against Kurt’s ass just as Sebastian gulped in a shocked breath. “Do you mean you haven’t . . .?”

Kurt shook his head.

“For three weeks?”

‘Three very, very, very long weeks.” Kurt rolled his hips on every very, just to make his point.

Sebastian groaned like he’d been mortally wounded. When he spoke his voice was all air and very little voice. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I know you didn’t. That’s what makes it a present.”

They stared at each other for the longest time, touching as intimately as they could with clothes on but still not _touching,_ in the way that counted. Kurt willed Sebastian to move, because he didn’t know how long he could hold out with those lips so close and those eyes trying to eat him alive.

Finally, “I’m going to destroy you,” Sebastian breathed but his hands didn’t move.

“That’s the idea,” Kurt countered.

“I’m going to tie you down and worship that body until the only words you can remember are my name and _please._ ”

Kurt shivered. He pressed down harder so he could use it to torture Sebastian. “I’m hearing a lot of talk. Not seeing much action.”

“I am going to come _in_ you and _on_ you and . . . any other place I can think of . . . until you’re begging me to finally let you erupt.”

“Still talking,” Kurt taunted.

“Oh fuck me.” Sebastian grabbed Kurt by the back of the neck and pulled him in hard, crashing their mouths together in hot, desperate reunion at long fucking last. His tongue was hot, demanding and Kurt’s body swelled with the wild joy he always felt when Sebastian’s need for him pitched this intense and abandoned. He wrapped his arms around Sebastian’s neck and rode his cock until they were both gasping for breath against each other’s lips. But when Sebastian broke the kiss Kurt still had the presence of mind to grin at him.

“I win!”

“Did you really?” Sebastian leered at him. “Let’s see if you still feel that way in a couple of hours.”

*     *     *

As it happened, Kurt did.

Stretched naked on the bed covered with his own sweat and the issue of Sebastian’s _three_ orgasms, holding tight to the curtain pulls he’d attached to the bedposts (because Sebastian was nowhere near ready to actually tie him down, no matter what he said), with Sebastian’s mouth doing things that should be illegal to his aching cock, Kurt felt like the luckiest man alive.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned when Sebastian dipped his tongue into his slit and fluttered it in that way that always made the whole world spin upside down.

“I love it when you curse,” Sebastian paused long enough to murmur.

“Don’t stop. Gods, I missed that.”

“Only that?” Sebastian asked, but he was gentleman enough to tongue Kurt’s slit again, so he was too busy moaning to have to answer.

Kurt arched under him, desperate to press deeper into that gorgeous mouth. “Don’t you think it’s time I got to come?”

Sebastian raised his head and fixed Kurt with the predatory stare that Kurt hadn’t seen often enough since Eastreach. “Don’t you think you’d better rephrase that?”

Kurt matched Sebastian’s provocation with his own. “Please,” he drew it out for emphasis and because he knew how much Sebastian loved it. “Please make me come.”

“Hmmm. I don’t know. Do you deserve it?”

“I waited three weeks.” Kurt put on a little pout.

“That’s the problem.” Sebastian shifted, which took his mouth farther from Kurt’s dick. Kurt whimpered a protest, but Sebastian wrapped his fingers around Kurt’s straining cock instead, circled his thumb over the damp head, and that was almost as good.

“What problem? There’s no problem,” Kurt panted.

“The problem is I wasn’t here to see it. You sat here every night and teased yourself and lay in bed throbbing for me . . .”

The thumb circled, winding Kurt up until it was too much. “Yes, exactly, all those nights laying here thinking about you, only you, Sebastian please . . .”

“But I wasn’t here to see it. I didn’t even know about it.”

“I could have sent you a message,” Kurt said as he writhed under Sebastian’s hand, “but I thought that might be . . . indiscreet.”

“Really?”

“Dear Sebastian, please come home because I’m torturing myself for you every night and I really fucking need to come . . .”

“I didn’t get to hear you moan or make that little desperate whine you do when you get really close.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I swear. _Please_ , Sebastian.”

“Yes! _That_ whine. I love that whine.” Sebastian’s thumb slowed just enough to keep Kurt from toppling over the edge he was straining for. “I really think the only way you can make it up to me is by going another three weeks so I can actually watch.”

Kurt did his best to glare at Sebastian, which was no easy thing when he was covered in milky seed and trying to hump Sebastian’s hand. “That had better be a joke, or I’ll –”

“You’ll what?” Sebastian leaned close. “What exactly do you think you can do tied up and helpless at my mercy? Oh no, little tailor. I’m in charge now.”

Yes, it was all for show. They didn’t even have a safeword. Sebastian had told Kurt about safewords, but after Eastreach the only safeword they needed was _no_. Even the tiniest hint of reluctance on Kurt’s part always brought Sebastian to a crashing halt. Kurt knew that Sebastian had things to recover from too, but he was determined to eventually spur his lover to the kind of dominance Sebastian craved as much as he did. So he clung to his tassels and undulated like he really was helpless even as he glared daggers at his prince.

“That’s master tailor to you,” he goaded.

“Really? So high and mighty now. Let’s see how haughty you are when my mouth is back on that cock.”

Sebastian ducked down and Kurt closed his eyes and cried out as his shaft was engulfed in the heat of Sebastian’s mouth. The plush softness of Sebastian’s throat closed around his throbbing head and swallowed and world spun and spun and spun . . .

*     *     *

“Don’t be mad at me.”

Kurt sighed. He had just come for the first time in three weeks and he was spooned tight and safe in Sebastian’s arms at last. His brain was still spinning and his body was still trembling and all he wanted was to be held while he drifted into a completely contented nap.

“What did you do now?” he asked instead.

“What you asked me not to.”

Kurt summoned up the energy to wriggle around and face Sebastian. His eyes were wary – a look Kurt saw far too much. He wanted to kiss Sebastian and make the look go away, but he also kind of wanted to hit him in the face. “You went to Pluna.”

“I had to.”

“And you waited to tell me this until after the sex.”

“I’m not a complete idiot.”

“That’s very much debatable.”

Sebastian had the good grace to look guilty at least. “Three weeks is a long time. I missed you.”

Kurt sighed again. “I told you before you went that I didn’t need –”

“But _I_ did, Kurt.” Sebastian didn’t shout, but his words carried the same weight as a shout. “I needed to find out how it could happen. And I needed to know if there was . . .”

“Anyone to punish?” Kurt finished for him. “That wasn’t your decision to make.”

“I love you!” It came out with even more force than the not-shout. It wasn’t the first time Sebastian had said it, but Kurt knew he tried not to, because he didn’t want Kurt to feel pressured. Kurt touched Sebastian’s cheek, cupped his palm around his jaw, tried to make up for not saying it back.

“This terrible thing happened,” Sebastian said, quieter, soothed by Kurt’s touch, “and I don’t get any say in how we deal with it?”

“No,” Kurt said quietly. “Because it didn’t happen to you.”

“Kurt . . .”

Kurt let go of Sebastian and rolled onto his back, staring up at the heavy beams in the ceiling. “But since you went, you might as well tell me.”

Sebastian settled on his back too but he reached over and took Kurt’s hand. He twined their fingers together and held tight. “You were right. Your Master Neric died the day after you disappeared.”

Kurt had known, but his heart squeezed to hear Sebastian say it.

“He never woke up. He didn’t know you’d been taken.”

“Genaa?” Kurt asked quietly.

“She’s still there. She rents out the shop, but she still lives behind it.”

“She must have been surprised to find the Crown Prince of the realms in her parlor.”

“She just kept telling me how sorry she was.”

Kurt turned to look at Sebastian’s profile. “Sorry for what?”

Sebastian shrugged. “I think that she didn’t do more to find out what happened to you.”

“No!” Kurt rolled further toward Sebastian, still holding his hand tight. “She lost her husband, she didn’t need to –”

“I told her that. I told her you never would have expected her to.”

“Did you tell her what happened?”

Sebastian stared up at the ceiling and shook his head. “Not everything. I didn’t think you’d want me to. I made up some story about you taking a walk and getting kidnapped by idiots who thought your fancy clothes meant you had money. Fucking ridiculous, really, but she bought it. I told her by the time you escaped them you were almost to Concordia City so you just stayed. Then I went on and on about you being the youngest master in a generation and making clothes for the queen and she cried. There was so much crying. It was . . . awkward.”

Kurt smiled in spite of himself. “Oh, poor Sebastian. It serves you right for doing what I told you not to.”

“Then I called a meeting of the village council.”

Kurt lay silent for a long time, trying to decide how much he wanted to know. Sebastian was silent too, waiting for him. Finally Kurt took a deep breath and said, “And?”

“And . . . they all insisted they had no idea what had happened to you.” Sebastian spoke slowly. Kurt could tell he was choosing his words with care.

“And you believed them?”

“I believed they weren’t specifically involved.”

“Specifically?”

Sebastian sighed and rolled onto his side to face Kurt. “The story I got was, basically, that Gavin was telling the truth. The village only had about half the tax money they needed. The collector was demanding payment so they called an emergency meeting of the council the night you were taken. And the tailor’s son –”

“Cale,” Kurt supplied.

“Cale,” Sebastian spat it like the name burned his tongue. “He told the council he knew the tax collector. Said he could persuade the man to take what the village had and go. But it had to be done privately. He gave the impression favors were owed that were better kept . . . discreet. The council members were desperate so they just handed over the money and the next morning both Cale and the tax man had gone. Neither of them has been seen again.”

“And the fact that I disappeared too?” Kurt asked.

“Coincidence, they told themselves. The two things probably had nothing to do with each other. You had your journeyman’s letter, after all, and you’d always wanted to get out of Pluna. They said they were all sure you’d just decided to move on.”

“Of course they were,” Kurt said and there must have been more bitterness in his words than he’d intended because now Sebastian cupped _his_ cheek, and ran his thumb soothingly across his chin.

“The wife – Genaa – she was smarter. She went to the council and told them how worried she was. She said there was no way you would have just left, especially with the master ill. But if the council had started any real investigation it might have alerted someone to the fact that they’d wriggled off the hook with the taxes and they didn’t think . . . well, you know.”

“I do know,” Kurt said. “They didn’t think it was worth the risk to try to help the strange, stuck up tailor’s apprentice who’d never fit in and didn’t have anyone to come looking for him anyway.”

“Something like that,” Sebastian murmured. “They knew – they must have known – but I don’t think any of them actually had anything to with what happened. I’m pretty sure they were all too overwhelmed by, well, _me_ , to have managed to lie convincingly.”

Kurt turned onto his back again. He wrapped his arms around his middle and held himself tight. “Poor Sebastian. No one to punish.”

“I could try to track down the –”

“No! Gods, no. Just leave it alone. The last thing I want is to bring it all back again. I just want to keep . . . moving forward.”

Silence hung between them for a moment and Kurt was afraid Sebastian was working up to tell him something else, maybe something even worse than the fact that almost no one in the village where he’d grown up had cared at all about whether he’d lived or died, but when Sebastian spoke it was something altogether different.

“So now I can tell you that I did bring you a present after all.”

“What?” Kurt asked vaguely. His mind was still mostly back in Pluna.

Sebastian got up and Kurt’s eyes followed his naked ass as he went to the trunk the servants had left against the far wall. He rummaged for a bit then turned to Kurt with a fabric-wrapped bundle in his hands. Kurt sat up and Sebastian dropped the bundle next to him on the bed.

He knew what it was the moment he touched it, but he unwrapped the plain black felt slowly anyhow, unfolding it layer by layer until the bright metal of Master Neric’s shears shone up at him.

“She said he’d have wanted you to have them,” Sebastian said.

Kurt couldn’t speak. He turned back another fold to reveal a leather measuring tape, two thimbles, and one of the many pincushions he’d spent so much time filling with threaded needles a lifetime ago.

“She said he’d be so proud to know that you were already teaching the things he taught you. Then she cried some more.”

Kurt smiled, but he couldn’t look away from the precious objects on the bed. They had defined his master – they _were_ Master Neric in every meaningful way. And now he, Kurt, would take them forward and create his own world with them.

“She also gave me this.”

Kurt looked up then, saw what Sebastian held, and a fist closed with crushing force around his throat and cut off his breath. Tears out of nowhere filled his eyes and spilled unchecked down his cheeks. The polished wooden box in Sebastian’s hands gleamed in the sunlight like a miracle.

“She said she found it under your bed after you’d . . . gone.” Sebastian took a faltering step closer, close enough to put it next to the gifts already on the bed.

Kurt’s throat unblocked on an ugly sob, followed by more that filled the room as he stared, afraid to touch it, afraid it would disappear if he let himself believe it was real.

“I’ll . . . um, I’ll leave you alone,” Sebastian stammered. “I’m sure my mother’s dying to . . . gush over the baby, or something. I’ll let you . . .”

On the edge of his vision, through his tears, Kurt saw Sebastian disappear into the dressing room. He stifled his cries enough to croak, “Sebastian!”

The handsome face appeared in the doorway, tight with emotion. Kurt scrubbed at his eyes, clearing them so that Sebastian would see how fervently he meant it when he said, “Thank you.”

Sebastian smiled, nodded, and was gone.

*     *     *

The sky was darkening by the time the sounds of Sebastian returning to their suite penetrated the outer door. Kurt had finally stopped crying. He’d cried for a very long time. He felt drained. He felt light as a feather. He felt heavy with possibility.

Sebastian froze in the doorway, probably surprised to find Kurt sitting on the bed, still naked, with the contents of the box spread across the mattress in front of him.

“Oh, you’re not . . . I’m sorry. I’ll come back –”

“Don’t go,” Kurt stopped Sebastian before he could turn away. “I want you to stay. I want to show you.”

Surprise then hope then unmarred happiness chased each other across Sebastian’s face. Kurt had to stop himself from laughing at him. Sebastian didn’t like to be laughed it.

“Show me what?” Sebastian asked lightly.

Kurt smiled down at the objects on the bed.

A black ribbon sat in the center of the collection, shining, not the slightest bit frayed, just long enough to tie around a child’s thimble finger to train it into place. Next to it were two wooden dolls – a girl and a boy – dressed in ornate miniature clothing that would rival anything found at a royal ball. There were two bundles of dried flowers in fading pastel colors, a swatch of yellow silk whose bright intensity seemed to mock the old blossoms, more bits of clothing for the little dolls, and a letter, written on stiff parchment curled at the ends like it had spent a long time rolled up tight. _By my rights and expertise as a fully-qualified master of the craft of tailoring, I, Neric Warnock . . ._

“Me,” Kurt said in belated answer to Sebastian’s question. He gestured at the objects on the bed. “This is me. Who I was before . . . everything happened. I want you to see.”

“I already see,” Sebastian said. “I’ve always seen.”

But he crossed the room and climbed onto the bed behind Kurt, wrapping one arm around his waist and the other around his chest, holding tight. Kurt let himself fall back in Sebastian’s arms, his bare back pressing against the silk of Sebastian’s waistcoat. He felt Sebastian’s chin land heavy on his shoulder and Sebastian’s lips brush the hollow behind his ear as he whispered, “Show me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end. And I can't quite believe it.


End file.
